Chapter Thirty-One
Primrose woke to the sound of Fitchett opening the curtains. Sunshine streamed into the room. Her thoughts slowly shook themselves awake—and then she remembered the events of last night. She sat up suddenly. “What’s the time?”
“Eight o’clock, ma’am.”
Primrose flung back the bedclothes and scrambled out of bed. She attended to her morning ablutions hastily and dressed as swiftly as she could. The only sign that Lord Algernon had tossed her down the terrace steps was a small bruise on her hip.
She fastened the acorn pendant around her throat, snatched up a shawl, and hurried from the room, along the corridor, down the four steps, through the short gallery, through the long gallery, along another corridor, and arrived out of breath at the door to Oliver’s bedchamber.
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