Venetia (Regency Romances #17)

NINETEEN

When she was in London, Mrs Hendred’s breakfast was invariably carried up to her bedchamber on a tray, but it was Venetia’s custom, like that of many other ladies of more energetic habit than Mrs Hendred, to rise betimes, and sally forth, either to do a little hum-drum shopping, or to walk in one of the parks.

Breakfast was served on her return in a parlour at the back of the house, and such was the esteem in which she was held in the household that it was Worting’s practice to wait on her himself, instead of deputing this office to the under-butler.

Worting, like Miss Bradpole, had recognised at a glance that Mrs Hendred’s niece from Yorkshire was no country miss on her probation, or indigent hanger-on unexpectant of any extraordinary civility.