Page 60 of A Housekeeper for the Earl of Drinkwater
Serena smiled fondly. She remembered well how he had looked last evening. It was clear he had been drinking, but he was still handsome and perfect to her. And it had been fun dancing with him, just as if she were the baron’s daughter, a fine lady attending a ball, once again. She could never bring herself to regret such a thing. Even if it was the last and only dance they ever shared.
“You needn’t apologise, my lord,” she said a little sadly. “You did nothing to justify it.”Not when I enjoyed every last minute of it,she thought to herself.
The earl studied her for a minute, no doubt trying to guess her thoughts. She gave him a bright smile so that he would know she harboured no resentment toward him.
“I do not mean that I regret spending time with you,” he added quickly. “I just meant that I apologise if I made you feel . . . uncomfortable or embarrassed.”
Serena blushed, fighting to keep her words in check.
“You were a perfect gentleman, my lord,” she assured him. “I accept your apology, then, though I still believe it is not needed.”
He nodded, still looking at her. She wanted to tell him that she had enjoyed dancing with him. In fact, she wanted to tell him that she hadloveddancing with him. But she could say none of those things. He was as good as betrothed to a beautiful, rich young lady of theton, and it would be in very poor taste for her to do so.
They stared at each other silently for several moments. She tried to read the earl’s eyes, but they were veiled and mysterious. Her heart threatened to beat out of her chest, and she could feel her cheeks growing hotter and hotter.
“I should not keep you from your duties,” Lord Drinkwater said at last, moving seemingly reluctantly back toward the door. “Thank you for being so kind and understanding, Miss White.”
Serena nodded, unable to speak. She simply curtseyed, following it with a small, shy wave.
A moment later the earl left, and Serena nearly collapsed from the strain of it all. But then, the smell of burned dough reached her nostrils, and she remembered the cookies. When she went to retrieve them, they were blackened, and she cursed herself silently. She would have to throw them away and start all over again.
Perhaps that was not so bad. She needed a little more time to calm herself by baking, especially after encountering the earl again. While she well knew a romance between them was impossible, why did she keep torturing herself so with the notion?
Chapter Twenty-five
“Edward,” Rose said, breaking the silence of the late morning breakfast. “You really should have made more of an effort with Lady Alice at the ball last night.”
Edward rolled his eyes, his head throbbing too badly to care to listen to anything his aunts had to say. He sipped the wine he had asked Clarke to bring to dull the effects of his alcohol overindulgence the previous night and ignored his aunt.
“Lady Alice stood right by us all evening, hoping you would ask her to dance again,” Blanche said, shaking her head with exaggerated disappointment.
Edward shoved a morsel of egg in his mouth, remaining silent. He happened to know that was a lie. He’d seen Lady Alice slipping back inside the ballroom later in the evening, after which she’d remained mostly hidden to him. But he saw no reason to mention it to his aunts. Doing so might give them the impression that he cared about the young lady, and he most certainly did not.
“And what about the arrangements and decorations for the ball?” Rose said with bitter disgust. “Who has ever heard of a buffet meal at such a formal event?”
“Those decorations looked as if children had made them,” Blanche added. “I assume that the new housekeeper of yours made them. And I hope it was her idea, and not yours, to have that buffet supper.”
“She should absolutely be dismissed,” the sisters said in unison.
Edward slammed down his fork, rising out of his chair. He’d had enough of his aunts’ unwarranted criticisms, and their speaking so ill of Miss White again was the last straw.
“Have I not done all you wanted?” he roared, his blood boiling. “I threw that damn ball, which cost money I do not have. I met and danced with your Lady Alice, who was no more interested in talking to me than to a brick wall. And that suited me just fine, because she isnotthe wifeIwant. And then, you practically spit in the face of the woman who, almost single-handedly, put your precious ball together in a mere few days? I think you need to show a little more respect, especially since neither of you lifted a finger to help make the arrangements for the ball or offered to help cover the cost.”
His aunts gasped, and he thought he had gotten through to them at last. He sat back down, satisfied with himself, but regretting the tantrum, as his head had begun to pound even more badly than before. He finished his wine, nodding gratefully when Clarke appeared immediately with a glass of brandy.
Rose scoffed.
“Why will you not even consider not marrying Lady Alice?” she demanded, completely ignoring the rest of what he’d said.
“You must be mad, my boy,” Blanche said, shaking her head. “There cannot be any other reason for you to reject such a beautiful young woman with such a large dowry.”
Edward chuckled, but there was no humour in it. He took a long pull of brandy, then looked his aunt Blanche in the eye.
“It is not I who suffers from madness,” he said, softly. “Though I have no doubt that madness runs rampant at this table.”
Both his aunts snorted.
“You are certainly mad if you think of dismissing the idea of marrying Lady Alice,” Rose said. “You know as well as we do that you need that money. How else will you make all the repairs needed on the estate?”
