Page 57 of A Housekeeper for the Earl of Drinkwater
“Good evening, milord,” the red-headed one said, batting her eyelashes at him.
He could not remember her name, but he grabbed a champagne glass off a nearby refreshment table and toasted her.
“And a good night to you, miss,” he said, drinking the entire flute in a single swallow.
The maids giggled again as Emily led them away. He shrugged, wondering what that display had been about. Then, he took two more glasses of champagne, pretending to toast a large crowd with both of them.
“Dum-dum-dum,” he sang to himself, imagining the orchestra was still playing and that he was singing along. “Dee-dee-dee-dum.”
He laughed, drinking from one of the champagne glasses and sloshing some of it onto his shirtfront. That made him laugh even harder, and he spilled the entire second glass of champagne on the floor.
He winced, pulling out his handkerchief and making a lame attempt to wipe up the liquid. Then he rose, forgetting about the spill instantly and going straight back for yet more champagne.
Now quite tipsy, to say the least, he swayed on his feet, hazily thinking over the events of the night. At first, the thoughts were pleasant; the evening had gone well. He was almost glad his aunts had forced him to host the ball. It reminded him so much of the days before he’d left for the war. Before his brothers were killed. Before his father had died.
And now, here he was, thinking of marriage. Not so long ago, he had been planning to marry Caroline. Now, his aunts were trying desperately to match him with Lady Alice Carteret. And, it seemed, so were her parents. He wondered if her parents understood the dire straits he was in financially, and if they did, whether they would still want their daughter to marry him.
He thought back to the dance he’d shared with her earlier that evening, and he blanched. Her dress had been too bright, making her look rather like a walking candlestick. Her blue eyes were dull and vacant, and she had not smiled, not even once. She had not even spoken to him, for heaven’s sake.
No,he thought, staring dismally into the bottom of another empty champagne glass.I cannot marry the child that is Lady Alice.
The thought made him laugh again, and he spun around, bumping into the table where, to his delight, he saw there was still plenty of champagne. He helped himself to another glass, shaking his head as Lady Alice’s too-pale, joyless face entered his mind once more.
I could never love her,he thought, pouring the fresh champagne into his mouth. He was not even remotely attracted to her. She was not, in his opinion, physically attractive at all. Her blond curls made her, indeed, look much like a child. As did her pouty lips, which did little more than tremble all evening.
As the alcohol began to tighten its hold on him, he shook his head. It made the room spin, which caused him to laugh again, but only briefly. He needed a wife who wasnotLady Alice, he knew that for sure. His wife must be not only beautiful and physically appealing, but also clever and capable, with a lust for life. That was, sadly,notLady Alice. Or any other woman of thetonhe had ever met.
Miss White,he thought, her face coming to mind at the same instant as her name.
“Serena,” he mumbled, saying her given name aloud for the first time. “Oh, Serena, why do I think of you at a time like this?”
The champagne told him why, as he could not be truthful with himself any other time. It was because she was all the things he sought in a wife. Those things, and many more. She was kind and compassionate, humble, and sweet, and her face was magically adorable when she blushed. Her golden eyes sparkled when she laughed, and he could not stop staring at her whenever he was near her.
“Oh, Serena, if only you were here right now,” he whispered into his latest empty champagne flute.
Just as he reached for two more glasses, he heard a sound at the door of the ballroom. He turned around, grabbing onto the table when the room whirled violently at the sudden movement, and squinted his eyes. Then, they flew open wide when he saw who had entered the room.
Miss White, clearly not noticing he was still there, went to work clearing away some of the debris left behind by the ball guests. He closed his eyes, trying to stop the room from spinning so that he could get a better look at her. When he felt less dizzy, he slowly opened his eyes. Still with her back to him, she was sweeping, stacking rubbish and dishes as she went.
“Miss White,” he said, taking an unsteady step toward her.
His voice must have startled her, because she dropped the dishes in her hand back onto the table and whirled around, looking at him with wide eyes.
“Lord Drinkwater,” she said, gasping. “I did not think anyone was still in here.”
He nodded, moving closer. As he did, he could see there was more than surprise in her eyes. There was a deep sadness, and he thought he saw . . . longing.
“I’m still here,” he said, slurring his words a little. “I thought it a shame to let all this wonderful champagne go to waste.”
To emphasise his point, he raised his glasses in the air. As he did so, he simultaneously splashed some of it on himself again and began to tilt sideways. He only just managed to right himself before he fell to the floor. He levered himself into a sitting position, grinned at her crookedly, then drank the remaining champagne.
Miss White giggled.
“Are you quite all right, my lord?” she asked, hiding her mouth with her hand.
Edward did not want her to hide her laughter. In fact, he wanted to hear her laugh again. He got up laboriously, took another swaying step towards her. The housekeeper laughed again, more loudly that time, which brought him much delight.
“I am feeling marvelous, my good Miss White,” he declared, waving the glasses and widening his grin.
