Lover Reborn by J. R. Ward Read Free Book Online

helpful you were in showing me the cleaning supplies—and how much I appreciated your fine service unto me.”
    Even though her hood was up and shielding her face, the
doggen
seemed to gauge her intention clearly enough: She wasn’t budging. Not to this member of the staff or any other. His only option was to throw her over his shoulder and carry her off—and that would never happen.
    “I am—”
    “Just about to lead the way, aren’t you.”
    “Ah… yes, mistress.”
    She bowed her head. “Thank you.”
    “May I take the—”
    “Lead? Yes, please. Thank you.”
    He was not holding the dress for her. Or cleaning it. Or hanging it up. Or redelivering it.
    This was between her and her daughter.
    With dejection worthy of a castaway, the servant spun about and started walking, taking her down the long corridor that was marked by beautiful marble statuary of males in various positions. Then it was through a pair of swinging doors at the end, to the left, and through another set of doors.
    At this point, everything changed. The runner on the hardwood flooring was no longer an Oriental, but a plain, well-vacuumed cream. There was no art on these pristine creamy walls, and the windows were covered not with great swaths of color with fringe and tassels, but heavy bolts of cotton in the same pale color.
    They had entered the servant portion of the mansion.
    The juxtaposition had been the same at her father’s manse: One standard for the family. One standard for the staff.
    Or at least she had heard it was as such. She had never gone to the back side of the house when she had lived therein.
    “This should be”—the
doggen
opened a pair of doors—“everything you seek.”
    The room was the size of the suite she had had at her father’s estate, big and spacious. Except there were no windows. No grand bed with a matching set of handmade furniture. No needlepoint rugs in peaches and yellows and reds. No closets full of fashions from Paris or drawers of jewels or baskets of hair ribbons.
    This was where she belonged now. Especially as the
doggen
described the sundry white contraptions as washing machines and dryers, and then detailed the operation of the ironing boards and irons.
    Yes, the servants’ quarters rather than the guest accommodations were her home, and had been ever since she had… found herself in a different place.
    In fact, if she could convince someone, anyone, to let her have a room down in this part of the mansion, it would be preferable. Alas, however, as the mother of the mated
shellan
of one of the household’s prime fighters, she was accorded privilege that she did not deserve.
    The
doggen
began to open cupboards and closets, showing her all mannerof equipment and concoctions that were described variously as steamers and stain removers and pressers.…
    After the tour was completed, she went over and rose up awkwardly on her good foot to link the top of the gown’s hanger upon a knob.
    “Are there any stains of which you are aware?” the
doggen
asked as she flounced out the skirting.
    No’One proceeded to go over every square inch of the full bottom, the bodice, the capped sleeves. “There is only this that I can see.” She bent down carefully so as not to put a lot of weight on her weak leg. “Here where the hem meets the floor.”
    The
doggen
did likewise and inspected the faint darkening on the fabric, his pale hands so sure, his frown one of concentration instead of confusion. “Yes, the manual dry cleaner, I think.”
    He took her to the far side of the room and described a process that was easily going to fill hours. Perfect. And before she allowed him to depart, she insisted that he stay at her side for the first couple of treatments. As this made him feel more useful, it worked for the both of them.
    “I believe I am ready to continue on my own,” she said eventually.
    “Very well, mistress.” He bowed and smiled. “I shall go down and endeavor to ready Last Meal. If you should