Page 36 of An Arranged Marriage with a Cruel Earl
Chapter 13
Andrew gazed out of the window. It was morning, and he had slept longer than usual. He could hear Ambrose and Lydia chatting in the breakfast room and he paused in the corridor by the big windows, hesitating before going in.
So strange to have my house invaded by guests,he thought wryly. It had been strange enough when Emmeline’s family stayed for a night, but then he had been so focused on all the strangeness of being married that he had barely noticed the three extra people in the house. Ambrose and Lydia were different. Whenever they were there, he had the uncomfortable sense that he was being watched and assessed.
Emmeline seemed to manage well, he reminded himself, his lips lifting at the corners in a grin. She had been excellent when Lydia bombarded her with personal questions. She had managed to stun Lydia without apparent effort. His gaze followed two figures walking on the winding path—one with silver-white hair, the other with a shock of auburn curls, half-hidden with a bonnet. His smile widened.
Emmeline and Grandma. They had become firm friends in the days that Emmeline had spent in the house. He often spotted them on their walks, and they were usually laughing and sharing a grin. Grandma seemed considerably happier since Emmeline’s arrival, and that had very little, if anything, to do with their change in finances. He had barely even informed Grandma that the debt was paid.
“Ambrose? Ring the bell, will you? This tea is cold.”
Andrew heard Lydia’s voice raised commandingly and he sighed and went into the breakfast room. He could not stand in the hallway forever, and besides, his stomach was twisting with hunger. He brushed a speck of dust from his pale blue velvet coat and stepped inside.
“Ah! Cousin!” Ambrose greeted him, already standing on his way to ring the bell. “Good morning.”
“Good morning, Andrew,” Lydia greeted.
“Good morning, cousins,” Andrew replied, going to take a seat opposite her at the round table near the fireplace. He reached for the pot of tea and poured a cup for himself, ignoring Lydia’s raised eyebrows.
“It’s cold,” she commented.
“It doesn’t bother me,” Andrew said lightly. Cold tea was something he had become used to, since they had not—not for years—had the sort of money that would warrant replacing a pot of tea simply because it was cold. Lydia blinked at him in surprise but said nothing as he sipped his tea.
Ambrose returned to the table. “A fine day for a jaunt, eh?” he asked Andrew pleasantly.
“Mm,” Andrew replied, reaching for some toast. He glanced at the sky through the window. It was cloudy, but a soft breeze blew, and he knew that it could change quickly and give rise to a sunny day. “Mayhap. I might go later.”
“I had forgotten how much joy you took in riding,” Ambrose commented, reaching for a copy of theGazette. Andrew tensed—it was probably about a week old. Ambrose flipped through it idly, barely reading the headlines.
“I do enjoy riding, yes,” Andrew replied. He was a little guarded in his answers. Everything his cousins said seemed to carry some unspoken judgment within it and they never sounded quite sincere.
“I recall when Grandfather bought you your first pony,” Ambrose reminisced. Andrew tensed. Grandfather had not bought him his pony—Father had, just before he passed away. “I remember you were just four, and I was eight. I could already ride a horse,” Ambrose continued.
“Yes. I recall you rode Nightshade,” Andrew replied, recalling the massive black thoroughbred that had been his father’s. He had been terribly upset at the time, since if anyone had been authorised to ride Nightshade, it should have been him, and he was only four and too small. Only the memory that Father had bought him Meadowsweet, his pony, when he was just three, had comforted him.
“Ah! More tea, please,” Lydia interrupted, speaking to the butler. Andrew saw Mr Pearson’s face shift to surprise—Andrew himself had never sent back a pot of tea for being too cold—but then he blinked and was as inscrutable as ever.
He inclined his head, addressed Lydia politely, and withdrew.
“Why! That man is impertinent,” Lydia complained as Mr Pearson went down the hallway. Andrew tensed. Mr Pearson had served him for decades when he could easily have demanded higher wages elsewhere.
“Mr Pearson is a loyal butler,” Andrew said tightly. “And I think, if you will excuse me, that I will go riding.” He pushed back his chair. Thestrangely judgmental comments and discomfort were too much for so early.
“Are you sure, Cousin?” Ambrose asked directly. He looked a little uncomfortable. Andrew nodded.
“Quite sure,” he replied. “I will be back by lunchtime as I have business to attend to.” He tried to sound less disinterested.
“Of course, Cousin. Accept my apologies for speaking rashly,” Lydia said quickly.
“Accepted,” Andrew replied, feeling a little guilty. He walked to the door and up the hallway, wishing he had eaten a little more. His stomach had barely even registered the one slice of toast he’d eaten.
He reached his bedroom, then hesitated. He was still hungry, and he was not prepared to go riding on an empty stomach. He turned and headed down to the kitchen.
“My lord!” Mrs Hadley, the housekeeper, beamed at him as he walked through the door. “This is an unexpected surprise. Is there aught I can do?” she added, her delighted expression shifting to worry. She, like Mr Pearson, had joined the household in his father’s time and had chosen to stay on despite the fact that she could have received better pay working elsewhere. She was a dear woman—round-faced, white-haired and with big soft eyes.
“No. No, nothing, Mrs Hadley,” he assured her swiftly. “I was just wondering...” he paused, awkwardly. “Might you prepare me some eggs? I’m dreadfully hungry.”
Mrs Hadley beamed. “Of course, my lord. I’ll prepare them for you at once. I suppose you’ll be taking them upstairs in the breakfast room?” she asked, already heading to the door to summon Mr Pearson to take them upstairs.
