At that, the maid's expression changed. Brow furrowed, eyes downcast to watch the steady rise of steam from the teacup in her hands.

She did not fill the silence left after Nisa's swift assurance. She did nothing at all, not even daring to sip at her tea.

Only once the mistress commented on the drink did she say, "I think I must have said something wrong."

Finally Briar lifted her gaze, and the shift revealed that her expression was one of concern more than anything else -- that she had been trying to find the right words, rather than leave them both in silence.

"I was not trying to flatter you," she admitted. "I am concerned that if I do not refuse you, I might like you more than a woman of my status should."

Nisa had, thus far, been very compassionate and kind to her. She was beautiful, too, like starlight in the sky of her dark mourning dress. She might lower herself temporarily to find entertainment in a maid, but Briar did not want to lose this job because of any feelings of her own that might stir.

She bowed her head, apologetic, and then took a sip of her tea.