@herknights asked: 💬 {maid!Missy}
Auguste was home. Ella and the girls, of course, were insufferably bubbly about it. When Papa came home it always meant presents. There were gifts for Margarethe, too: fabric that would be sent on to the dressmaker’s, a string of pearls, and even--this he showed her almost shyly--an ink-brush painting on a scroll, the scene of a woman in a garden, surrounded by flowers. It wasn’t that she didn’t appreciate it all, of course. It was that she knew what she had to do to earn it.
The night he came home they had dinner as a family, naturally; but later, Auguste and Margarethe retired to her room. In front of the fire, he chattered away about the details of the trip while she rung for Missy and told her to bring drinks for herself and her husband. With his hand settled on her leg he told her about the sea crossing prior to his trip overland, and the negotiations, the formalities of partnerships, the--
--crash of glasses and decanter and tray onto the floor. Auguste jumped back in surprise as Margarethe’s hand went at once to her thundering heart. There Missy stood, just by them as if at attention, glittering shards and spilled brandy at her feet, meeting Margarethe’s eyes with cool insolence. “Oops,” Missy said.
The rest of the evening passed without incident--Missy had even cleaned up her mess without balking--and Auguste and Margarethe passed the night as they usually did on his return. By the time she stirred the next morning, he was gone. No doubt already dressed and gone for a ride, or to check on his little collection of livestock, or somesuch. For all his money he had a farmer’s instinct for rising with the sun.
Lucifer jumped up onto the rumpled bed, as glad as Margarethe for Auguste’s absence, and as she sat up against the pillows piled himself into her lap, purring. By the time Missy entered the room, Margarethe had worked herself into a suitable glower, stroking Lucifer and tracking her maid with a narrow-eyed gaze. “You embarrassed me last night,” she said. Lucifer pulled away from her hand; not looking down at him, she eased the pressure, and he returned to her attention. “What do you have to say for yourself?”
