As shocking as that thought was, it would make sense if Mr Preston were... like that, wouldn't it? It'd explain why he was unmarried and still single at his age - approaching fifty, she believed. Though, she remembered that one woman, haughty and dismissive with cold blue eyes and a sneer that made the poor maid feel like she was worth less than dirt on that woman's shoes. Come to think of it, Mr Preston did that to her, too, sometimes. Usually when she interrupted him doing, well. Nothing.
She was staring. She shouldn't be staring. She was. Staring. Clutching the basket a little tighter, the maid backed away - still staring by the way - and bumped into her employer.
"Beautiful, isn't he?" "Oh! Mister Preston, I wasn't... He... I just wanted to... I..."
Heart hammering against her ribcage, all the maid wanted was to leave but found herself unable to get her legs to move. Mr Preston was warm against her back and he was only half dressed - oh this was so embarrassing - and his guest didn't seem in a hurry to make himself more... presentable. And, yes, her eyes were still fixated on him. So, so embarrassing.
"Mister Preston-" "No need to be ashamed for being caught looking. You don't mind, do you, Michael? Have you met Constance by the way?"