The Debutante (The Sinclair Society Series, Book Two) Rough Draft

Chapter Eight

"Grace Anderson is positively the most namby-pamby girl I have ever come across."

Surprised to hear Miss Dunbar make mention of Miss Anderson, I paused in arranging the lady's hair. "Why do you say that?" I asked as I forced myself to continue with my work or brushing her hair.

"If you had ever met her, you would not ask such a stupid question." Miss Dunbar reached to pick up a bottle at the corner of the dressing table and gave a yelp. "Nelson! I hate it when you pull on my hair like that. I would expect you to have the experience not to do so on every occasion!"

Biting my tongue, I mentally counted to ten. "I have observed Miss Anderson on one of your excursions to the Lower Pump Room," I said, refusing to apologize for something that hadn't been my fault. "She appeared to be a sweet young lady."

"Sweet and sentimental and absolutely dull," Miss Dunbar said, condemnation in her voice. "She has mourned the death of a single man for five years now. As though there were no other men to be had!"

What Miss Dunbar clearly saw as a flaw, I thought was rather sweet. Miss Grace Anderson had truly loved Jonathan. Though, after five years, perhaps it was time for her to find someone who could ensure her future. My brother would have wanted that.

"I would expect you to be glad not to be in competition with her."

"Competition? With Grace Anderson? Don't be absurd, Nelson. She and I are not close to being equals."

That was true. Miss Anderson was far her superior: in character, personality, and, in my opinion, her appearance.

"There are times I believe you are the most dim-witted creature alive, Nelson," Miss Dunbar said, watching me in the mirror. Her smile had a cruel edge that I knew not to trust. "Mr. Ingram told me you didn't remain to be recompensed for delivering the note when I sent you the last time."

So that was what this was about. "It was late, and being alone on the streets at such a time was not wise," I said, choosing the least offensive reason to explain my actions. I finished pinning her hair in place and stepped back. "Will there be anything else?"

Miss Dunbar scoffed as she stood up. "All you had to do was ask Mr. Ingram to provide an escort for your return. Who knows? Perhaps you would have enjoyed spending time with a handsome footman."

"I hardly think so." The moment the words left my lips, I regretted them. There was only way she would see them: confrontational.

Just as I suspected, she spun to face me and her eyes flashed with fury. "You are an ungrateful thing! Not every employer would be so lenient to allow you to have a gentleman caller!"

And not every lady would scream at her servant or throw various items at said servant whenever she had a temper tantrum, but I kept this observation to myself. I had to count to twenty in my head, though, when she lifted the basin of water and tossed the dirty contents onto me.

A cry of surprise left my lips. Miss Dunbar flounced out of the room, leaving me dripping wet. I curled my hands into fists, fighting the desire to go into the hallway and throw something at her. "Spoiled child! I have had enough of you!" I said in a low voice.

Right then, I made my decision. I had hoped to stay in the Dunbar house long enough to learn all I would need, but it did not seem wise any longer. If I would have to devote some of my time to seek out a different position to avoid Rose Dunbar's cruelty, then so be it. As soon as it was morning, I would spread the word.

The front of my wet dress clung to me in an uncomfortable way. Huffing, I pulled at the fabric and tried to wring the water out. After a minute, I gave it up as useless and walked to the door. I would have to change before I could clean up the mess on the dressing room floor.