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"Ah, I couldn't go…" She blushed again. "I've had me breakfast hours ago, sir, an' there's so much work to be doin'…"

"Do you work for another of the lodgers, or for the housekeeper, hmm?" Alan asked to keep her in the room. She was incredibly pretty in her own way. "And how much work is there, really? Fuss and clean the lodgings after the occupants are off at work? Upstairs maid, or maid-of-all-work, are you?"

"Maid-of-all-work, sir," she admitted. "An' I does for that Mistress Harper on the third floor, too, but it's little enough there is to do for her, her bein' out on the town so much, you know, an' she with her own maid already."

A bell tinkled downstairs and the girl was off like a hare, suspending any further conversation. Alan smeared butter and jam on his toast, spooned sugar into his coffee, and began to munch, missing his newspaper. Usually, he arose late, as he had that morning, had his sparse breakfast and hit the streets, making for a coffee house where he could borrow the house paper and converse with others of his sort. He could not remember the last time he'd stayed in his lodgings this late in the day with nothing to do, long after all the others had departed for their daily chores or rounds of visits.

There was a rap on the outer door, and Abigail was back once more, wiping her hands on her apron so as not to soil the letter she bore in her hands.

"Iss note come for you, sir," she squeaked, in awe of the crest and the quality of the paper, and the liberality with which it had been sealed in blue wax. "From a great lord, I thinks. The footman come in the downstairs parlor grand as a lord his-self, he did."

Alan opened it and read that, due to the weather, Lady Delia Cantner would not be receiving that day. She wished his company, but not at risk to life and limb from the slippery streets, nor the risk of sickness at being exposed to such cruel cold. Besides, her previous guests were staying over because they couldn't get home, and his presence would not go down all that well. Tears, unrequited passion, etc.

"Ah, well," Alan sighed, folding it back up and tossing it aside, thinking that he'd not had much luck lately in notes from women. "So much for visiting friends for cards this afternoon," he explained. "Lord and Lady Cantner. Knew 'em in the Indies. Saved their lives a few years ago."

"Ah, did you, indeed, sir!" the girl gushed. "Your man Cony, he told me, he says to me, how you were a Sea Officer, an' how many adventures you've had, sir. Yorktown, an' Red Indians, too!"

"This was before I met Cony, before I joined the ship he was in. Oh, sit you down. Ever had coffee, Abigail?"

"Lord, no, sir! 'Tis dear stuff for the likes o' me back in Evesham."

"Have a few minutes to spare from your work?" Alan cajoled. "Have a chair, pour yourself your first cup of coffee and see if you like it. And I'll tell you all about how I made the acquaintance of Lord and Lady Cantner."

"Well… just for a few minutes, sir," she replied shyly, casting a glance toward the hallway door. 'The housekeeper, she'd turn me out if she thought I was shirkin'."

"Tell her you're doing my rooms while my man Cony is off. That I asked you to do it," Alan coaxed. "Have a slice of toast, too."

Undermaids usually were run ragged from sunrise to long after sundown for little more than six pounds a year, and not a full day off to themselves. And most were half-starved teens down from the country whose stomachs growled loud as a midshipman on short commons. The offer of a second breakfast, some quiet time away from the demands of the housework and a tale of derring-do alone with a gentleman were too much temptation. She plunked herself down in a chair, snatched toast and knife in a twinkling and laid to with a will.

"Oh, 'tis bitter," she said of the coffee, but liked it a lot better with sugar in it-another luxury most servants never tasted except when allowed. And for a few blessed minutes, she sat on the edge of her chair, gasping here and there, uttering an occasional "my stars" or "God bless!" at his saga of desperate danger, as though it were a play she was watching from the cheapest seats in the back.

"Why, sir!" she exclaimed in a soft voice when his narrative was through, "I do believe your man Cony was right! You're a true English naval hero, that you are, sir, if I may be so bold as t'say so!"

"You're too kind by half, Abigail," Alan replied, patting the back of her hand, to test the waters. If Dolly Fenton was on the outs with him, and Delia Cantner was saddled with unwanted house-guests, the day would not have to be a total loss, he decided. He admired the way Abigail's chest had heaved with emotion.

"You'd not be knowin' it, sir," she said, dropping her voice to almost a whisper once more and averting her eyes, "but the first time I clapped eyes on you, I said t' myself, I says, there goes a fine gentleman. So dashin' an' brave lookin'. I… sort of… well, talk gets around below-stairs, from one servant t' the t'other, and I heard tell you was a sailor back from fightin' the King's enemies an' all? But Cony didn't tell me the half of it, he didn't!"

She didn't stiffen up as he massaged the back of her hand, nor did she quail as he turned it over and held her small, work-roughened hand in his. He pulled her gently to her feet, towards him as he pushed back his chair. She leaned forward even before he could rise, and in a moment, she was seated on his lap and he was raining kisses on her slim young neck, on her cheeks, and their lips met in a first, clumsy little maidenly kiss. He put a hand to the back of her neck and she opened her mouth to his pressure, slipping her arms about him, warming to his play quickly. Too quickly for the shy maiden she seemed.

"Lor', they warned me 'bout London, they did, sir," Abigail chuckled softly between kisses. "Weren't no diff'rent man any house a girl could work for in Evesham nor Birmingham, neither."

"At least the men are gentlemen, Abigail," he whispered. "The game's the same, city or country."

"I can't afford t' lose my position, though, sir," she complained gently as he slid a hand under her skirts and stroked his hand over her warm, incredibly soft and slim young thighs. "If'n I get turned out with no ref'rence, they's not a house in London 'd hire me, 'cept a bawdy-house."

"You do for me, like you do Mistress Harper, then," Alan said, thrilling to the way she was shifting her slight weight on his lap.

"She gives me two shillings a week," Abigail suggested coyly.

"I'll match it," Alan promised. "And on your next day off, I promise you a pretty new hat. A ride in a coach, a grand supper."

"Like a real lady, sir?" she sighed, parting her thighs so he could stroke her downy groin. She leaned hard into him in passion.

"One day a week, you can play the lady," Alan swore, too afire at that moment to care. "As long as we may play."

"You will be careful, won't you, sir?"

"Go lock the door," he ordered.

She was too young to need a set of stays, and had only thin, unsupported linen petticoats on under her sackgown. Alan had but to unbutton her down the back and gather her dress around her waist, and he was rewarded with soft, warm, tantalizing flesh under his hands and lips. Smooth young legs wrapped around his hips under his robe as he spread it to cover both of them. Pert young breasts that stood up proud as islets even flat on her back.

"Got t' hurry, sir, before the missus…" she pointed out as he licked and kissed and stroked her into flames, taking time with her mounting need as most would not. Pretty young house-servants were fair game for the sons, the fathers, the butlers and footmen. Too poor to be able to complain they were, mostly. Or too willing for the game to continue, as long as they didn't get caught, or turned up with a jack-in-the-box. Town servants would be turned out come summer, anyway, to spend several months trying to eke out an existence on what pitiful few pence they'd managed to save, until their families returned from summer homes in the country. London was full of part-time courtesans, willing servants such as Abigail. Some like Abigail, indeed, who were more than willing, if they could make some extra money on the side from it, get enough to eat for once, be rewarded with gifts of nicer clothing than most housekeepers begrudged them.