NINE
“Alden,” I said softly.
He sat frozen on a bale of hay, his eyes wide and startled, his hands fisted on his knees.
“Hmm?” His gaze shifted to me.
I tapped his hand with my finger. “I can’t get your gloves off if you don’t relax.”
He looked down. “Oh. Sorry.”
“I just love all this, I truly do,” the woman who had approached us said in a thick Georgian accent. “I did drama while I was in college, you know? And I loved dressing up and pretending I was, oh, just all sorts of people. It’s just ever so much fun. Since you’re done with the show, when your servant there gets done undoing all those bits and pieces, Alden, perhaps you can show me around?”
“I’m not a servant,” I said politely, holding back a snippy answer. I had enough experience working in the service industry to know how
