“They were holding hands, and the only reason they were doing it was that they both wanted to. They wanted to touch one another. There was no escaping from that basic fact: Alice wanted, and was wanted in return.”
Alice had her eyes on that lady’s maid.
Most lady’s maids Alice had met were either French or at least pretended to be French; failing that, they were Englishwomen of the austere, rail-thin variety. Molly Wilkins was neither, and Alice didn’t know how she was supposed to concentrate on her sewing – or whatever it was she was meant to be doing – when there was an ample bosom or a pert backside within reach at all times.