Page 25 of Gambling with the Earl
“I should like to hear you try.”
Her eyebrows shot up towards her hair. What was happening here?
“I don’t believe…” She swallowed, searching for the words. “I don’t believe that singing is usually considered part of a chambermaid’s duties.”
Something flickered in his expression. She wrenched her eyes away from his, conscious once again that she had spoken out of turn.
The earl pursed his lips as if considering the idea. “But you served at the table last night, did you not? Such a thing is alsonot a typical duty of a chambermaid. Anyway, my castle, my rules.”
She blanched as a new wave of heat travelled through her body. He was testing her. That was it. But how should she answer him?
Like a servant, that was how. She bobbed her head, conscious of her hair springing free of her white cap. “If it pleases you, my lord.”
“Excellent.” He rubbed his hands together. “Return here later this evening and we shall see how a chambermaid’s duties may be further amended.”
*
What should shedo?
Kitty was distracted by that question all afternoon. Her attention wandered so far from her chores that Cook had to speak to her severely to prevent her burning the sweetmeats.
How could she go alone to the earl’s solar and sing for him? The very idea was preposterous, yet it was what he had asked of her. And she was a servant in his employ. Again and again her thoughts returned to the conclusion that a genuine servant would have no choice but to comply. Twice she nearly blurted out her problems into Cook’s kindly ear, but to do so would invite further conversation which might risk revealing her true identity—and with it, the fact of her father’s wager.
She simply couldn’t do it. Her shame was too great to say the sordid words out loud.
“Kitty, are you listening to me?”
She dropped the soup ladle in shock. “Sorry, Cook.”
“You’re away with the fairies this eve,” Cook tutted.
“I’m sorry.” Kitty bent to recover the ladle then placed her palms down on the scrubbed pine table to centre herself in the room.
“I was asking if you wanted to join Agnes and myself on a trip to the market tomorrow.”
Cook’s words made no sense to Kitty’s tormented mind.
“It’s our half day,” the older woman reminded her gently. “And market day over in Rossfarne.”
Market day in Rossfarne. The notion was from another life entirely. A life she dared not step back into, not yet. What if she saw someone she knew?
Kitty gathered her wits. “It’s kind of you to offer, but I must use the time to do some mending.” It was true enough. Her stockings were full of holes.
Cook shrugged. “Suit yourself. If you’re finished with the soup you can take it up for Thomas.”
“No need, I’m here.” The earl’s manservant shouldered past Kitty in his haste to pick up the tray and be gone from the kitchen.
“I don’t think he likes me very much,” Kitty remarked as his heavy footsteps resounded up the servants’ stairs.
“Thomas likes no one,” Agnes stated, spinning a rolling pin between her sticky hands.
“He’s devoted to his lordship though,” Cook said conversationally. “He served him all through the Welsh wars. It seems neither of them are enjoying life away from the battlefield.”
Kitty stopped slicing bread and listened closely. So it was true. The Earl of Rossfarne was a knight.
“He’ll be gone as soon as the old man’s affairs are in order,” Cook concluded.
Agnes shuffled closer to both of them and checked over her shoulder to ensure they were alone. “Gwen told me he’d been robbed.”
