"Not cocoa please."
The handmaiden halted midway across the room, shivering as though she had just caught a cold. "You don't, um, want," she swallowed then blinked, "to eat anything?" she asked. Her accent was pale. Her bleached brows sunken.
Louisa could not scold her; she was simply trying to help. According to what Mrs. Fairfield said after putting her stuff in order, which were fewer than any lady should be known to possess, lunch hour should happen at exactly thirteen o'clock when the bell would go out throughout the hall. That had happened an hour ago—the house had descended to the grand hall for a lively feast, but Louisa had not participated. "Anything but cocoa, Brightfin. That brand of tea has scarred me all too recently to have me become a bait a second time."
