Chapter Eight

T he next morning, Marie joined the others for breakfast. But before she'd had much time to do more than sip a cup of hot tea, Charles, the cook, said, "So I hear you're to join us today. Apparently, Mr. Jones had a word with Mrs. Drummond."

Marie looked up from her porridge. She'd gotten so used to interruptions during mealtimes, she was eating faster just to get some food down. So it had been agreed. She wiped her mouth. "Yes. If that's all right."

"I don't mind. Not that we need another pair of hands, but there's always work to be done. But it's not everyone who can work in the kitchen, mind you, so if I find you're eating cherries meant for the guests on the sly, or cutting corners, or making shoddy dough, you'll be out on your ear. Now hurry up."

Marie tried her best to hide the smile on her face, when Mrs. Drummond said, "Oh, don't look so pleased. If you can't chop onions properly, you'll be back to raking out the fireplaces by lunchtime. Now hurry up and finish." As Marie spooned more porridge in her mouth, Mrs. Drummond said, "About the matter of the dress. Mr. Jones and your uncle spoke with the mistress, and she's agreed this may just be a misunderstanding. So you're to work with us where we can keep an eye on you. But no mistakes, Marie. Or you won't have the good mistress's charity a second time."

Marie heaved a small sigh of relief and lowered her spoon with a subtly trembling hand. She shot Mrs. Drummond a smile, finished her porridge, then took her plate and utensils away to clean. Mrs. Drummond ran her kitchen like a military regiment, with no laziness allowed. She first instructed Marie to chop onions, so she might inspect her knife work. After five seconds, she said, "No. That won't do. Hattie, show her how."

Marie was introduced to Hattie, a tall girl with broad shoulders she had seen before at meals, but who was largely quiet and sat with the other cooks. Hattie patiently showed her how to hold a knife, cut without hurting herself, and soon had her chopping onions. Marie was shocked to learn she'd been cutting vegetables all wrong and began to slice with the blade held away from her fingers, to make smaller incisions, rather than big rough ones.

After a quarter hour, Marie's eyes and nose were streaming and her arms ached, but she didn't care. She was in the kitchen. For the first time, she felt like she belonged. All that day, she listened and paid attention, whether they instructed her to chop up carrots, potatoes, or mushrooms, and let her observe how they made sauces. But part of her idly wished that she might share this moment with Lieutenant Gage. She daydreamed of them stirring a sauce together, with his hand resting over hers on the edge of the wooden spoon, stirring until he leaned down to kiss her.

But as Marie leaned over a saucepan to stir the bubbling, white sauce, Mrs. Drummond said, "Oh, that locket of yours looks old. Take it off, girl. None of us wear any jewelry here. We can't have rings and bracelets popping up in the pastry, now can we?"

Marie slipped away to her room and rested her locket on a small side table next to her bed, then thought better of it and hid it beneath her coverlet before returning back downstairs.

Soon the air was filled with the heavenly scent of a creamy, white sauce, and Marie soaked up the lessons like a sponge. She'd never been so happy—aside from spending time with Lieutenant Gage—and even when she sat down to luncheon with the others, she was keen to get back to work. That afternoon, she watched as they made bread and a thick potato soup for the servants' dinner and was sent to read and study a cookbook as they made dinner. Hattie was surprised she could read, and to Marie's surprise, didn't tease her or call her a princess, but rather quietly asked if Marie might teach her sometime. Marie felt a warm rush of pleasure come over her and instantly agreed.

That evening at dinner, she sat beside Hattie and the other cooks, and there was no trouble at all. The evening meal was calm and even quiet for once. Marie observed, chopped vegetables, peeled potatoes, stirred sauces the following day, and again the day after that, learning tips, tricks, and how the cooks worked. And yet, she realized that she missed Lieutenant Gage. She missed his smile, and how he had a sort of crooked grin that grew when he saw her, and the rush of excitement she felt when their eyes met. She missed the warm touch of his hand on hers as he led her in dances she did not know and missed the subtle strength he had as he encouraged her or charmed her with witty conversation. She longed to see him, and her feet found their way up to the stairwell, where she might look and see him, but beyond exchanging a glance or two, they could not speak without causing attention.

In the kitchen, she distracted herself by focusing on the work. They made beautiful pies with golden topped pastry, sweet jellies to tantalize the tongue, and miniature savory tarts meant to delight.

She spent hours learning how to make bread, from creating the dough and letting it prove, then beating it and letting it prove again. Her first attempt, she added some seeds to the mix, and the cooks served it at dinner to the servants. The bread, fresh and warm from the oven, had a light, hard crust on top, and it was spongy in the middle, just cooked. Sliced into thick squares and spread with butter, the bread disappeared in minutes, much to Marie's delight.

Mrs. Drummond said, "Take a slice of this to the mistress, Marie. I'd like her to taste it."

Marie took the slice of bread on a plate, along with a knife and some butter, and took a tray up to Mrs. Dove-Lyon's parlor, where she knocked and came in when bidden. "What's this?" the mistress asked as Marie entered. She sniffed the air. "A new bread?"

"Yes, ma'am. With seeds. Mrs. Drummond bid me to bring you some."

Mrs. Dove-Lyon let her set the tray down on the coffee table before her and helped herself to some butter on the bread. She took a bite and said, "Delicious. I'll have some more, please."

"Oh. I think it's all gone. We just made some for the servants' dinner."

Mrs. Dove-Lyon's lips pursed with displeasure. "You'll just have to make some more, then. I'll take two more slices, quick as you can. Thank you."

Marie curtsied and took the tray with her, when Mrs. Dove-Lyon said, "Oh, and Marie, you may join Mrs. Martin on the main floor tonight. I think she seemed a trifle lonely these past few nights."

"Yes, ma'am." Marie brought the tray back downstairs, smiling. She would see her friend again, and Lieutenant Gage. The day was looking up.

She returned the tray, cleaned up the dishes, and told Mrs. Drummond of the arrangement she had with Mrs. Dove-Lyon. The woman nodded. "Yes, I'd heard about that, but I never listen to servants' gossip. All right. So long as you don't turn up late tomorrow. I can't have it affect your work, understand?"

"Yes, Mrs. Drummond." Marie curtsied and went up to get dressed. She needed the maids' help with her hair, and that night dressed in a light-pink dress with small cap sleeves; sleek, white gloves that reached her wrists; and small dancing shoes that seemed dainty and light on her feet. With an ordinary pink ribbon in her hair and around her waist, she was ready, and thanked the lady's maid for doing her hair. Miss Robbins's silence was her answer, but she had hopes of winning over her good favor with kindness. In no time at all, she was on the main floor and quickly sought out her friend.

"Mrs. Martin," Marie said, curtseying.

"Miss Cadeaux," Mrs. Martin said, clasping her in a hug. She lapsed into French immediately. "Where on Earth have you been hiding? Did I offend you? I've been so hurt. Did I drive you away?"

"No," Marie replied. "Not at all. It's my fault. I was detained and couldn't make it. I'm so sorry."

"Well, never mind. I'm glad you're here now. We missed you, and if you don't mind my saying so, that poor lieutenant was particularly unhappy." Mrs. Martin spoke with a coy smile.

Marie laughed. "How strange. I don't see him."

"Come to think of it, nor do I. Odd, indeed, for I had grown used to seeing him here most nights. I daresay he comes here looking for you."

Marie gave a small gasp. If she had carried a fan, she would have rapped her friend on the arm with it—playfully, of course. "Mrs. Martin."

"Oh, don't Mrs. Martin me. I've seen the way he looks at you. And I think you are not insensitive to his many attractions. You like him, do you not?"

"I do." Marie blushed.

"Aha! I knew it. Well, he will be sorry to have missed you. I would have been so happy to act as your chaperone. Never mind. Come, let us watch the card games." Mrs. Martin took her arm and whisked her away to one of the gambling tables, where they chatted gaily.

Yet a half an hour later, a footman approached and said, "Excuse me, miss, but the mistress wishes to speak with you in her parlor."

"Me?" Marie squeaked.

"She's not going anywhere without me," Mrs. Martin said. "I want to speak with her, too."

"Begging your pardon, madam, but she did request just Miss Cadough," the footman said.

"It's all right, Mrs. Martin," Marie said. "I'm sure it's nothing."

"You'll be all right without me? I will come if you need me," Mrs. Martin said.

Marie patted her hand. "I'll be fine. I'll be back soon."

"I'll be waiting." Mrs. Martin fanned herself and nodded at the servant.

Marie followed the servant off of the main floor. It was one of the burly footmen who managed entry at the door of the establishment. She did not know his name but recognized his face. She asked, "What's this all about?"

"Don't know. Just that a gentleman's come calling and the mistress wishes to speak with you. Best not keep her waiting." He escorted her through the main rooms upstairs, through the observation gallery and gambling rooms of the women, and knocked on the parlor door.

"Come in," a feminine voice said. The footman opened the door and stood by for Marie to pass.

Marie entered and stopped short. There sat Mrs. Dove-Lyon on a pink sofa trimmed with dark wood, almost black, whilst across from her sat Marie's uncle, Baptiste. Facing them stood Lieutenant Gage.

Marie's heart fluttered in her chest. He looked incredibly handsome in the warm candlelight, his brown hair tied in a queue, his sideburns long and with his black eyepatch over his left eye, his clear, blue right eye gazing at her with a warmth that made her heart pound. He bowed, straightened, and walked past her before taking a seat in the anteroom.

"Close the door, Marie," Mrs. Dove-Lyon instructed .

Marie closed it and swallowed. "Ma'am?"

"I trust you are acquainted with Lieutenant Gage?"

Marie nodded.

"He has expressed a wish to get to know you better."

Uncle Baptiste frowned and his hands clenched into fists.

Marie looked at her hostess askance. "I beg your pardon?"

"He wishes to pay his addresses to you. He wishes to court you publicly, if you will agree to it."

"Court me?"

"Yes. Are you… open to his suit?" Mrs. Dove-Lyon steepled her hands.

To be properly courted by the lieutenant. A real gentleman. Marie sat on the sofa next to her uncle, opposite Mrs. Dove-Lyon. "I…"

There was a knock at the door, and Lieutenant Gage opened it. "Forgive me, but I would make my case to you all directly." He stood before them and looked directly at Marie. "I know I am unattractive due to my eye injury, but I swear to you that my intentions are honorable. I come from a good family and have the means to court you. You can look my family up in Debrett's—I would not propose to court you formally if my intentions and good name were not a sign of good faith." He looked at her, his good eye almost pleading. His mouth was in a soft line that could be changed into a smile or a frown in an instant.

"But I am a servant."

He came toward her and took her hands, raising her from the sofa. His hands were warm and he looked down at her. "You were so kind to me that first night. The drums and the music was harsh to my ears and you took pity on me, when an ordinary servant might just ignore me and leave me to my pain. You may be a maidservant, Miss Cadough, but you are not ordinary. Not to me."

Her heart rose in her chest, and a warm feeling came over her. Could he be telling the truth? Butterflies suddenly fluttered in her chest. "Truly? You wish to court… me?"

His smile made her heart sing. "I have come here each night and stayed until closing, with the hope of meeting you. Did the other servants not give you my message?"

"What message?"

"A footman, Thom, I think his name was, agreed to tell you I was waiting by the stairwell and hoped to speak with you. But when you never came, I thought perhaps you didn't like me. That you had changed your mind." He squeezed her hands.

Marie's mouth dropped open. "I never received any message. Believe me, if I had known…"

"Never mind that. I would like to court you properly, if you will have me. Will you?" He spoke earnestly then, addressing her heart, she realized. His clear, blue eye sought hers, and she slowly pulled her hands free and lifted his black eyepatch off of his head, setting it aside on the sofa. The harsh redness of the scar and its puckered skin glared at her, but the blue eye that looked at her was clear and healthy. "You don't need to wear this around me."

He exhaled and took her hands in his, raising them to his lips. "Am I to take that as a yes?"

"Yes." She laughed, a light, happy sound.

He laughed and picked her up in his arms. "Really? Truly? You do not find me hideous?"

She shook her head, smiling as her heart felt light and fluttering as he set her down. He leaned in to kiss her when Uncle Baptiste cleared his throat, and Marie was reminded that they were not alone. Seeing his disapproving face, cold reality set in and she dropped the lieutenant's hands.

"But I am as you see. A servant, and sometimes a cook. My birth is obscure, my family is likely dead." She ignored her uncle's noise of protest. "I have nothing to offer."

"Perhaps he does," Mrs. Dove-Lyon said. "Lieutenant, perhaps you might give us a few minutes alone to discuss."

Lieutenant Gage's expression was mutinous. "Only if Miss Cadough wishes it. If she wishes for me to stay, I will not leave her."

Marie felt her heart overturn, almost swoon and smiled at him. "It's all right. Please, we'll just be a minute."

Once the lieutenant had quit the room, Marie looked toward her uncle. "Uncle Baptiste?"

His face was sour. "I do not like him."

"Because he is English, or a soldier?"

"Both. How do you know he is not just seeking to tumble you and make you his mistress? These soldiers are young; they do not know how to treat a woman. They have rough ways. How can we be sure he is honest, and honorable?"

Mrs. Dove-Lyon looked at him with interest. "You believe I would allow a common soldier to toy with one of my staff?"

"He may make polite addresses now, but what happens when they are alone?"

"They will be chaperoned at all times. I would make sure Miss Cadough is looked after, like any young woman in my care."

"And when are they to court? Will she be given time off from her duties? She has just started in the kitchens." Uncle Baptiste turned to Marie. "You have started working in the place you love. Would you throw that away for a man?"

"I…" Marie's mouth shut like a trap. "Could I not do both?"

"You wish to work in the kitchens, see this young soldier for courting, and be a companion to Mrs. Martin? This is too much for any young woman," Mrs. Dove-Lyon said. "You'll be dead on your feet."

"I agree. You should not see this young man," Uncle Baptiste said.

"Uncle. I would like to," Marie said. "Be courted, I mean." Her heart fluttered at the prospect. To see him, to hold hands, to maybe even be kissed by him. It was all too much to consider all at once. Was she in a dream ?

Her uncle's face grew stormy. "Your parents would not have wished to see you escorted around by an ordinary soldier, and an English one at that. They did not—" He stopped. He rose to his feet and said stiffly, "If that is what you wish, then so be it. But you do not have my permission or approval." He walked out, leaving the door open.

Marie let out a breath and shut it again, quickly.

"Why is he so defensive about your person, and your parents? Who are they?" Mrs. Dove-Lyon asked.

"I… don't really know. I hardly remember them from when I was a child. I remember faces, and a ship, a voyage over the ocean and the storm, then working in service. That's all I know. We speak French, and Uncle Baptiste tells me we are French, but I do not remember my parents as such. All I have of them is a cookbook, and my locket—" She felt at her neck. "Oh."

"Where is your locket?" Mrs. Dove-Lyon asked.

"I took it off when I started working in the kitchens, so it wouldn't fall in the food," Marie said.

"Very wise. And what is your surname? Is it truly Cadough?" Mrs. Dove-Lyon asked.

"Yes. Why wouldn't it be?" Marie tensed.

"I have heard Mrs. Martin address you as ‘Miss Cadeaux,' so I wondered. I will address you as ‘Miss Cadeaux' as well, as that is your true surname. You see, I am not so unforgiving of French staff as some employers. When did you come over to England?"

"About fifteen years ago, I think, maybe sooner. Uncle could tell you for certain."

"Yes, well. I see no reason not to let you receive a gentleman caller once you have finished your work for Mrs. Drummond. She came to see me, you know."

"She did?"

"Yes. She said you're a dab hand in the kitchen, and you have a taste for seasoning and sauces. You make a good bread, too. You made that seeded bread earlier, didn't you?"

"I helped."

"She said I'd be a fool to let you go back to working as a parlor maid. She said you worked as hard as any cook, and we'd better not let you go, no matter what the others say. You're worth the trouble, she said."

"Did she really?" Marie clasped her hands in her lap.

"Yes. So now I need to see proof of that. Mrs. Drummond and I both expect great things from you, Miss Cadeaux. Do not let us down. I will speak with her about letting you have a caller to escort you after your duties are done." She paused. "Marie, about the dress. I do not think you took it, but I also cannot let the matter slide. I cannot abide carelessness, and I also will not tolerate theft in my household. I will not dismiss you over this, I have decided. But I do want you to find that dress and return it to me. Is that understood?"

"Yes, madam. Thank you." Marie bowed and quit the room to find Lieutenant Gage waiting.

He bowed politely and straightened, looking her in the eyes. From another person, such a firm stare might have made her feel discomforted, but she met his gaze directly. His eyes were a bright blue, and they reminded her of the morning sky, after daybreak.

"Hello," she said.

"Hello." He swallowed and glanced away.

"What is it?" She clasped and unclasped her hands. "You don't wish to court me, after all?"

"No, nothing like that. I…" He rubbed the side of his face, along one of his sideburns. "You make me nervous."

She smiled. "Oh."

They faced one another. He looked into her eyes. "You are not opposed to my… courting you?" His voice was low and quiet.

"No. You are not bothered about courting a maid? "

"Oh. And here I thought I was courting a cook. Never mind." He made a shy attempt at humor, but she caught it and smiled. He added, "I don't care what you do, or what you are. If you'll have me?"

She gave a little nod, and her chest rose as he took her hand and brought it to his lips. But doubt bloomed in her mind. Would he still care for her once he learned of her nationality? Would he still find her as beautiful if he knew she was French? She didn't know. And she feared what might happen when he found out.

"I promise I won't disappoint you. I know we hardly know one another, but I hope… I hope. That is to say I… Will you dance with me?" he asked.

Her smile was shy but unmistakable. "Even though I am a terrible dancer and do not know the steps?"

"You are not so bad as that. And besides, you have a very willing teacher." His blue eyes danced.

"I should like that, very much."

She walked with him a little, and they rejoined the main assembly, when Marie stopped short.

"What is it?" he asked.

"Um. I recognize that young woman," Marie said.

"Who?"

There amongst the men and women stood Miss Hortense Campbell, the daughter of her former employers. She took after her mother in that she was tall and thin, with movements like a stork, all long legs and stiff movements. She also had the insufferable habit of looking down her nose at people and sniffed more often than necessary. Marie had once overheard Miss Hortense—No. She was Miss Campbell to Marie now. Marie had heard her once tell her mother she believed it gave her an air of gravity, so as better to stand out amongst her peers.

Tonight, Miss Campbell wore a long-sleeved dress of deep plum, shot with light, vertical stripes. With a round bodice and dark cross about her neck, she looked pretty, if a trifle severe. Perhaps it was her dissatisfied expression.

Marie paused. What to do if Miss Campbell recognized her?

"You are wondering whether to avoid her and hide in your room, if I had to guess," Lieutenant Gage said.

"How did you know?"

"You must never play poque, for the other players would be able to read your expression instantly. If there is a story to tell, it is written on your face. Along with your rosy cheeks, your lips, and soft, brown hair." He smiled at her fondly.

"Poque?"

"I believe they call it ‘poker' in America. A card game of wagers and bluffs," he said. "But now you have promised me a dance. Shall we?"

She accepted his hand and allowed him to lead her onto the dance floor.

A harpist was playing tonight, and she felt eyes on her as the lieutenant led her in the dance, taking her hand in a light warm clasp and then releasing her again, stepping in formation. He whispered instructions to her and she tried, but once again, she was slow to learn, however much she tried to mimic the dancing of the others. With each step, they moved and stepped, weaving patterns on the dance floor with other dancers, in quartets and then a line. It was a country dance, but a pretty one, and she found she was enjoying herself.

But there was more to it than trying to remember which step to take. At each moment where they danced or clasped hands, his eyes sought hers, and his mouth, at first serious, began to offer a warm smile. Above his eyes was the angry red line of the scar, but it gave him a roguish air, and she decided she liked it on him. He looked dangerous, and as he pressed her hand and gave it a gentle squeeze, her heart fluttered again.

All too soon the dance was over, and she felt the poorer for it. He said, "Another? Or would you like a drink first? "

"A drink, please." She felt parched.

He excused himself and went to fetch her a glass of wine. She stood by as Mrs. Martin quickly joined her.

"Well, you two make a delightful couple. What did Mrs. Dove-Lyon want to speak with you about?" she asked.

Marie glanced at her shoes and couldn't hide the shy smile on her face. "Lieutenant Gage asked permission to court me."

Mrs. Martin clapped her hands in delight. "Oh, how wonderful! I have no doubt you will be perfect together." She paused. "But how strange. Why would he ask her permission and not your uncle's?"

"I um… My uncle valued her perspective on the matter. I… worried the lieutenant might not wish to court me, considering I am…" She paused. "I have no prospects."

"Pish tosh. Of course you do," Mrs. Martin said. "Anyone who looks at you can see you are a beauty. You may not have much in the way of a dowry, but you do well enough. And many men would pay handsomely for the chance to have a pretty girl on their arm."

Marie looked at her friend askance. "Pardon?"

"I only mean that you have attributes enough to attract any man. Do not belittle yourself so." Mrs. Martin paused. "I should like to meet this uncle of yours myself. Is he here?"

"My Uncle Baptiste, he does not socialize much," Marie said. "And he is not here at present," Marie said hurriedly, her face warming. "He left after our meeting with Mrs. Dove-Lyon. He… does not care for gambling. And Mrs. Dove-Lyon looks after me when he is gone."

"And yet he escorts you here and leaves you under her care. With no chaperone or lady's maid. What a kind gentleman. Although that is a shame. I would invite you both to tea so we could properly meet," Mrs. Martin said, "But never mind. So it is official. You two are courting. I love it. I always love courting couples. It is so exciting."

"How did you and the colonel meet?" Marie asked.

"Oh, he was encamped near my village and met as the men came in to the market to buy food and drink. Eventually, he made my family an offer we could not refuse. Besides, I wanted a bit of adventure and knew he would give me a life that was not boring. But never mind us. I want to hear all about the charming lieutenant. And, oh, my. Look at that young woman."

Marie followed her gaze. There stood Miss Campbell, with a berry-colored shawl dangling from her elbows. As she stood alone, near a group of men clustered around a gambling table, Mrs. Martin said, "Mark my words. I wager she's about to drop that shawl at any moment to get their attention."

"You think so?"

"But of course. A gentleman will see it drop to the floor and pick it up, on the pretext of assisting her, and then they will become acquainted. It is a little game. But she is nervous, like a bird. She keeps looking around. She must be new at this."

"At what?"

"Trying to attract men's attention." Mrs. Martin glanced at her. "Oh, my young friend, you are new to the art as well, I see. But do not worry. I will not let you make a fool of yourself. You will be much subtler than her. Who is she, I wonder?"

"Miss Hortense Campbell, of Upper Clapton. North of the river." Marie wondered idly that things must not have worked out well between her and Father Reynolds's son, despite the roast dinner they had served on her last night at the Campbells'.

"I see. Is that a fashionable neighborhood? I am still new to London and do not know its streets."

Marie answered in French, " Comme ci, comme ?a. "

"So-so? Hah!" Mrs. Martin laughed. "Look."

Sure enough, Miss Campbell dropped her shawl, letting it fall to the floor. Unfortunately, this happened behind the gentlemen standing at the card tables, and so it was not long before one or two of the men stepped on it, not noticing .

Miss Campbell frowned and pouted, attempting to tug and pull it out from under the men's boots. She succeeded and it ripped, making her fall backward and crash to the floor. "Oh!" she cried. Muted laughter and whispers rippled through the air.

Marie stepped forward, but Mrs. Martin held her arm. "Wait."

A young man in a red regimental uniform noticed Miss Campbell, smirked, then tapped one of the men on the shoulder, whispering in his ear. The man turned, glanced at Miss Campbell on the floor, shrugged, and returned to his game.

"Oh, how rude," Marie said.

"Yes, indeed."

"I should go help her," Marie said.

" Non , look," Mrs. Martin said. "That soldier will do it. Watch."

The soldier turned from the men and knelt to Miss Campbell, speaking to her quietly. He helped her up and with a steady hand at her back, handed her the torn shawl. She nodded and spoke quietly, her cheeks red.

Then, as if by magic, the event seemed forgotten, and they began to talk. The soldier in question was a handsome, blond-haired man, tall, with broad shoulders and a pleasant expression. His hair was tied back loosely with a light blue ribbon, which added a distinct contrast to his stiff, red regimental uniform. But his smile was free and easy, and he took Miss Campbell's offered hand and bowed over it deeply, kissing it.

Miss Campbell beamed with pleasure and touched her chest as if to say, Oh, my .

A few minutes more and soon he was escorting her to the dance floor.

"I see Miss Campbell has made a conquest too. You are not the only one with a military admirer," Mrs. Martin said with a smile.

"It seems not. I'm glad," Marie said. As much as she and Miss Campbell might have been of two different social spheres, and despite her harsh words all those years ago, she bore her no ill will. Not really.

At that point, Lieutenant Gage returned, bearing two glasses of red wine. "Mrs. Martin. Miss Cadough." He handed the glasses over.

"Thank you, Lieutenant. Let me congratulate you on the happy news. I am delighted to see you both courting." Mrs. Martin grinned at Marie's blushing cheeks. "Now, what can you tell me of that gentleman over there?" She pointed with her fan.

"The soldier?" He followed her gaze toward Miss Campbell and her dance partner.

"Yes. Are you acquainted with him?"

His face clouded. "Yes."

"Lieutenant?"

He stood watching, his expression growing darker by the minute. "Excuse me. I have no more appetite for frivolity. Ladies." He bowed to them both, and glancing at Marie, his gaze rested on her face and dwelled at her lips. "Goodnight, Miss Cadough. I trust we will see each other again soon."

She nodded and curtsied as he soon left.

"Well. What on Earth was that about? And his eyepatch is gone. Do you think he has had a misunderstanding with that soldier? Are they mortal enemies, do you think?" Mrs. Martin said teasingly.

"I do not know. But it is strange, is it not?" Marie said.

"I shall speak with my husband and see what I can learn. Men gossip just as much as women; he is bound to know something. I wonder what his name is. We'll see." Mrs. Martin spoke with a wide smile.

Marie stayed by her friend's side for the evening but kept a peripheral watch over Miss Campbell. She did not know why, but her senses were alert.

She reached unconsciously for her locket at her neck, then realized she'd left it.

"But where is your pretty locket?" Mrs. Martin asked .

"Oh, I was baking and had to take it off. I did not want to drop it in pastry." Marie smiled.

"Very wise." Mrs. Martin yawned. "But now I am tired. I think I shall adjourn early this evening. Bonsoir ."

They said good night, and Marie quickly undressed and once back in her maid's uniform, she set aside the dress for laundering and returned to her room. She pulled back the bed covers where she was sure she'd had tucked it away, but it wasn't there. That was odd. A sense of doubt filled her. She looked for her locket, feeling almost naked without it. Marie hunted high and low for it, opening drawers, searching under her bed, tearing the sheets and duvet off of it, peering on the floor, but it was no use. Her locket was gone.