Lady in the Mist - Laurie Alice Eakes [37]
Dominick tugged on his coat and ran down the two flights of steps to the kitchen. Halfway down the second stairwell, he smelled burned toast.
“Not again,” he groaned.
He would have to start eating plain bread. That’s all there was to it. Dinah and Deborah couldn’t toast bread that was cut as thin as he liked it, regardless of how much they wished to impress him. But untoasted bread didn’t work so well in his coddled egg.
Resigned to going hungry again, he pushed open the door into the kitchen.
“Deborah burned it this time,” Dinah declared. “She was pretending you were dancing with her at the Midsummer Festival.”
“Dinah, that wasn’t nice to tattle,” Letty scolded.
Dominick glanced at Deborah’s scarlet face. He should either offer to dance with her at some festival or tell her why he was a redemptioner. The former would get her toes smashed enough to quell any romantic notions, and the latter would give her an outright disgust of him. Likely, it would give everyone such a disgust of him they’d send him inland to Kendall’s plantation to pick whatever these colonists grew.
No, they weren’t colonists now. Or was that yet?
“I don’t dance.” He bowed to Deborah. “Or I’d be honored to take a turn with you at this fete about which I know nothing and am probably not welcome.”
“But you are,” Deborah burst out. “We all are. The ticket money goes to a fund for widows of sailors and fishermen, so anyone with the admission price is admitted.”
“A good cause. But how, pray tell,” Dominick asked, “does a bondservant get money?”
“He takes on extra work that pays.” Letty scooped an egg from a pot boiling over the hearth. “Three minutes and I’ll make the toast.”
“Deborah and I’ve been taking in sewing,” Dinah explained. “We want new dresses.”
“Alas, I have nothing I can do to earn my fee.” Dominick feigned disappointment, but it was no jest. He would love the money to take Tabitha. Nothing like convivial company and moonlight to make a lady trust him.
So long as this lady didn’t get called away to a birthing or a broken skull.
“You’ll get tips this week if you do well.” Letty slid pieces of thinly sliced bread onto a toasting fork. “Mayor Kendall’s friends are as generous as he is.”
“That’s because they are paying us not to gossip.” Dinah giggled.
“They talk politics, like this.” Deborah whispered. “Like it’s treason they’re planning, but I never heard any sed—anything bad against the government.”
“Sedition, I believe you mean.” Dominick seated himself at the table and picked up a spoon to break the top of his egg. “Perhaps I’ll manage the fete after all. When is it?”
“June 21,” Letty said.
Dominick hit his egg too hard, shattering the shell and sending soft-boiled egg oozing across his plate. “My apologies.” He snatched up a piece of bread and used it to mop up the runny egg.
The twenty-first day of June indeed. Surely, for this cause, he could gain permission to be out after curfew, which would make meeting his uncle’s messenger that much easier. Especially if Dominick escorted a lady.
“Whom will you escort?” Both girls gazed at him with their big blue eyes.
“Neither of you.” Letty slapped the toasted bread in front of Dominick. “He’ll keep his affairs out of this household.”
“I don’t have . . . inappropriate relationships, Letty. Do please believe me.”
Guilt twanged his innards. Kissing Tabitha was probably inappropriate. It was wrong, calculated, intrusive . . .
“You’d best get your hair ready.” Letty broke into his musings. “I have to get dinner started. Can you carve a chicken with that hand bandaged?”
“I doubt I can carve one with my hand unbandaged.” Dominick rose. “Let’s get the powdering over with. I have . . . er . . . politicians to charm.”
They arrived in plenty of time for Letty’s dinner, three men from