Minor Indiscretions Read Online Free PDF Page B

laudanum. And a good thing the doctor had some experience with ex-soldiers and dockworkers, or other patients with colorful vocabularies. And it was an especially good thing that Melody, behind the bedroom door, did not understand half of what she heard. No maiden's education need be
that
complete.
    The doctor left, and Barstow and one of his stable lads helped Lord Corey down the hall, out of Melody Ashton's life. She wished she'd said good-bye.
    Back in the sitting room she found no trace of the whole episode, no gory water or stained towels, no decanter, no battered but unbroken nobleman. There was just the faintest scent of brandy and male body—and Mrs. Barstow, clucking like a chicken that's spotted a fox near the henhouse.
    "I just brought some fresh hot water, miss, in case you want to freshen up before tea."
    Both sounded heavenly, but Melody thought of her dwindling supply of coins. "Thank you, ma'am, but I didn't order tea, and we agreed not to be a further burden to you. Your giving up your rooms is far more than money alone can repay."
    "Nicely spoken, miss. I told that clunch Barstow you were quality. But never you mind. It's all been taken care of by a gentleman whose name I don't recall so don't ask me."
    Melody smiled. "You mean the one who wasn't here before?"
    "Right. The one I'm to swear on my life you never spent the afternoon with."
    "In that case, thank you, tea would be delightful. And please thank the gentleman for me."
    "What gentleman might that be?"
    "He'll be all right, won't he?"
    "No one's ever cocked his toes up in
my
inn, miss. 'Specially not any handsome rogue what's too slippery for the devil to catch."
     
    Nanny woke to the smell of fresh-brewed tea, lemon wafers, and buttered toast fingers with jam.
    "You been behaving yourself, missy?"
    "I haven't been out of these two rooms, Nanny."
    Mrs. Barstow spilled the cream and had to go fetch more.
     
    One night she .was dreaming of balls and beaux; the next, fretting over her family's uncertain future. This evening, Melody dreaded blowing out the candle, for fear she would have nightmares of blows landing, bones breaking, blood and bruises and horrid yellow-purple, swollen skin. She didn't. She fell asleep with a smile, and a mind picture of a crooked grin and laughing blue eyes. She hugged the image to herself and never stirred till morning.
     
    Mrs. Barstow brought morning chocolate, hot rolls, and the news that the coach would be out front in an hour. Albert's nephew and two of the grooms had been working on it since sunup, long before the bucks were up requiring their services. Melody was pleased to accept Mrs. Barstow's offer to help her get ready, saving her scalp from Nanny's ruthless touch. In forty minutes she was washed, dressed in a fresh gown, her hair pulled back in a neatly braided coil, her cape newly sponged and pressed.
    When Melody reached for the reticule hanging off her wrist, Mrs. Barstow was having none of it. "Reckoning's been paid," she whispered for Melody's ears only. "Nothing improper in that, I made sure. Just his nibs's way of saying thank you."
    Melody waited until Nanny went back to the bedroom to check that they hadn't left anything behind, for the third time. "You've seen him, then? He's better?"
    "Cranky as a crab and uglier nor a pickled pig. He's down the hall in one of the private parlors where we moved a cot in to save him the stairs. It can't be what I'm liking, but he asks if you could stop in for a minute on your way out."
    "It would only be proper to thank him for his generosity," Melody rationalized. Then Nanny clomped to her side in heavy boots. "But I don't think I can."
    "That's been taken care of, too, miss." Mrs. Barstow turned to Nanny. "You know, I've been thinking of that mishap of yourn yesterday. A terrible thing, these ruffians on the road. Anywise, my sister used to be a prodigious needlewoman afore she moved away. Now her threads and such are in the attic, likely going to moths, for I