Page 17 of A Cinderella to Redeem the Earl
A rather mischievous smile curved his lips. ‘I can see how that would pique your interest, Mrs Lamb. Why she would giggle, I cannot guess, but these rooms are used by my guests when they require a little privacy. They are generally called retiring rooms,n’est ce-pas?’
Oh. Retiring rooms, where a lady must go to use the necessary. And possibly a gentleman, too. It was so obvious, why hadn’t she thought of it? Was she so determined to see problems at every turn in regard to this man? ‘I see. Thank you. Well, if you will excuse me—’
He reached out a hand. ‘Where did you get the keys?’
Swallowing, she glanced down at the ring of keys clutched in her hand. ‘I found them in a drawer in the kitchen.’
‘May I see?’ His tone brooked no argument and, indeed, why would she argue? This was his house after all.
She held them out.
His wary expression cleared. ‘Those are for the cellars. Now, you said you had discovered a suitable dining room. Would you care to show it to me?’
As if she had any option.
He shepherded her towards the staircase. Not that she had any objections to showing him. She was pleased with her find.
‘This way,’ she said.
He followed her downstairs and along the ground floor corridor. She opened the door to the small chamber. ‘What do you think?’
His silence caused her to look up. The genial expression had been replaced with...sadness?
How ironic that this woman had declared this room as perfect. This had been his mother’s favourite place to spend her days with her needlework or taking tea with her friends. It was the room whose loss his mother had bemoaned constantly in their draughty two-room apartment in Marseilles.
When he first returned to the house, Damian had suffered an urge to restore this chamber to its former glory. His memories of the house and park were vague, but this room remained etched in his mind by way of her description. He’d done his best to recreate it and had been pleased with the result.
Even so, whenever he entered this room, he felt the pain of loss. That his mother had not lived long enough to return here, to redo it herself, saddened him.
He should have left it well alone. It had been pointless and he couldn’t step foot in it without remembering her, and now this woman wanted him to eat in here. Damien tamped down his emotions. Or at least he attempted to sound calm.
‘It is not a dining room.’
‘No, but...’ she opened one of the shutters ‘...the view of the park is quite lovely and the table, while small, would work for two people. I would cover it with a heavy cloth so the wood is not damaged—’
‘I will dine in the servants’ hall as previously arranged.’
She spun around, obviously surprised and obviously planning to attempt to make her case.
His frown must have stopped her words, because she closed her mouth and folded her hands at her waist. ‘Very well.’
What the devil did she have to be disappointed about? ‘What does it matter where I eat as long as I do eat? You cannot tell me this is more convenient, for I am not a fool.’
‘No. No, indeed,’ she said hastily, edging towards the door. ‘If you wish to eat in the servants’ hall, it is of no matter to me.’
Damn it all. This was not what he intended to happen. He was supposed to be charming her, not acting like a bear with a sore head.
He strode to the window and looked out. In his mind’s eye he saw himself as a small boy running across the expanse of lawn trailing a kite, or sitting astride his first pony being led by a groom. But he no longer knew if these idyllic mental pictures were memories or merely stories told by his mother.
His clearest boyhood memories were of the stink of Marseilles’s streets lined with tenements and running with filth. Of stealing pocket handkerchiefs to buy food. More recently they were of making money gambling in taverns until he had enough saved to buy an establishment of his own.
He heard a sound behind him. She was leaving.
‘Wait.’
He turned back to face her. She straightened her shoulders as if bracing against more of his ill humour. ‘I will eat in here.’
Surprise crossed her face. ‘If you are sure?’
