Page 26 of Gambling with the Earl
“Robbed?” Cook wiped her hands on her apron. “Where did she hear such a thing?”
“Thomas told one of the grooms.” Agnes swiped a sweetmeat from the platter which Kitty had carefully arranged.
“I told you before, I want no gossip in my kitchen.”
Agnes held up her hand. “But it affects us all. If his lordship can’t pay his tithes to old Longshanks, we’ll all be looking for a new position.”
Kitty held her breath. Was this why the earl had need of her family jewels?
“Nonsense.” Cook resumed her work. “That Gwen is filling your head with fanciful tales. I thought better of you, Agnes.”
Agnes merely shrugged. Kitty had observed before how Cook’s scolding washed straight over her.
“How are you getting on with the marzipan?” Cook demanded.
“Terrible.” Agnes pursed her lips. “I haven’t the knack for it. Mayhap Kitty should try?”
“Aye, mayhap she should. Go on then, off with you, Agnes. Kitty, come here and help me.”
Kitty was conscious of time passing. The earl would be expecting her upstairs at any moment, but she had no choice but to follow Cook and take over the rolling of the marzipan, which Agnes had made such a terrible mess of.
“She’s a wily one,” commented Cook as they both gathered up the sticky dough. “She thinks I don’t know what she’s about.”
Kitty looked up in surprise, and Cook gave her a wink.
“Agnes can dress a cake with marzipan as well as you or I, she just pretends to have no knack for it so she can retire early.”
Kitty cut a neat circle of marzipan and spread the cake with jam to make it stick. “It’s a fine idea,” she commented, biting her lip as her mind started to whirl.
“Fine indeed, but cunning as a fox.” Cook sighed. “Thank goodness for you, Kitty. You’re a good worker and honest as the day is long.”
Kitty hid her flush of shame by concentrating hard on trimming the excess marzipan with a blunt knife. She spun the cake around to check all was level and was grateful when Cook finally bustled off to the pantry.
Alone in the kitchen, she straightened up and carefully positioned the knife on the sideboard. Cook had embarrassed her, but also given her the beginnings of an idea.
The earl had instructed her to sing for him, but that didn’t mean she had to sing well. Kitty licked her fingers, liking her plan. She would attend his solar, as requested, but she would make sure he never made such a request again.
Chapter Eight
Would she come?
Guy paced the solar as the shadows lengthened around him, waiting to see what fate had in store. His situation reminded him of the time immediately before a battle. You picked the favourable ground, prepared as best you could and then let events play themselves out.
He tried to ignore the critical inner voice which calmly stated that he should never have asked her to come and sing for him, certainly not alone. She was a servant, for goodness sake.
Although she wasn’t just a servant. She was a puzzle he was determined to solve.
He paused by the window and allowed himself to look out, even though the view brought him pain. From here, the view of the sea was limited. All he could see were the forbidding granite walls of the barbican and the windswept inner courtyard. The similarities with Forbisher, the great estate where he had spent his childhood, were uncomfortably apparent. That desolate patch of open land stretching out to the gatehouse could be the same grassy knoll where he had played swords with Angus, his younger brother—the only time he had ever willingly given away his advantage.
He closed his eyes to banish the ghosts of his past, yet still they rose up around him. Since coming to Rossfarne, he had seen Angus everywhere. His cheerful smile as he ran acrossthe long gallery; his excitable young voice urging Guy down to the beach. These were mere tricks of memory, for Angus had never visited this castle. Had never grown old enough to leave Forbisher.
It was only his isolation and enforced inactivity giving rise to such flights of fancy. His lively mind, usually occupied from dawn to dusk, was free to roam into nooks and crannies he had deliberately left long abandoned. Newly empowered, these phantoms were becoming real to him, and it was harder than ever to shut them out.
Which was why he’d asked the girl to come and sing for him. Nay, he hadn’t asked. He had ordered.
A tentative knock sounded on his door.
“Come.” His voice was a growl. Unexpectedly, he was angry at her for coming. His request had been ill advised and he’d half hoped she would have the backbone to refuse him.
