Lucinda Elliot

Meanwhile, the Wicked Georges is making friends…

Perhaps the uniform for footmen at Lord Ynyr’s would be on these lines; however luxurious it was, Georges didn’t like it.

Meanwhile, Georges has arrived too late for dinner time  in the servants’ hall. Madame Blanche, the housekeeper, has him served some cold meat and bread.  Eloise, her chestnut haired, full bosomed niece, takes one look at this handsome new arrival and is eager to do the serving.

“This English habit of porter instead of wine is indefensable.” He winks at her. “I see I must demand some wine from Monsieur. What, my pretty, may your name be?”

“Eloise.  Your services may be needed, later.” He looks eager, and she giggles. “At table; there is a sickness that goes about, and we are three footmen down.”

Georges snorts. “So, I must stand like a stuffed dummy and pass plates, eh? Don’t tell me I must wear the foolish livery I saw on them others.”

She nods, smiling mischievously. Madame Blanche’s voice penetrates through the heavy door. Elosie rolls her long lashed eyes. “Ma tante. I must go.”

She meets Agnes in the door. “Oh, I do declare Agnes has come to make friends.”

“Are we not friends already, Eloise?” Agnes’ eyebrows shoot up. “You hurt me quite.”

She glances at Georges, who is eyeing her keenly, and wondering why he is quite so taken with a girl with such a bumpkin air abut her, who sports such a ridiculously short nose.

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