Page 2 of The Butler's Forbidden Fancy
Yet she alone had lived in his memory as an autumnal blaze of a woman. Sweet of face, pure of heart, without wiles, but quick of wit. A fairy, with flaming hair and the dreamy dark forest green eyes of a wood nymph.
Her coachman pulled down the step and flung open the door.
Her foot, clad in forest green leather boots, inched forward.
Then appeared a ridiculously huge muff of red fox. One sage leather glove. A cloak of heather tweed. A hat—a moss green Leghorn chip with two huge white ostrich feathers—truly an outrageous thing. Too big for her heart-shaped face, the horrid bit wobbled as she stepped toward the carriage door. But then, the hat suited her. She’d always liked to make an entrance. Her sense of drama suited her courage in fashion as in life. Her boldness stamped her as worthy of any theater. And he silently applauded her for it.
Curse his wayward eyes.
They locked on hers. He dared not move toward her lest he fawn like a suitor. Like a man delighted that she’d come.
His first footman, well-trained man, was assisting her down.
It was now his singular duty to step forward.
“Welcome to Marsden Hall, Lady Elizabeth.” He put on a show for the others. No inflection of familiarity, no flicker of recognition, no sign of how she had been the only woman he’d ever had the savage desire to kiss—or caress.
She’d taken his footman’s hand for his aid. But turning those eloquent emerald eyes upon him alone, she seemed to absorb him. Body. Soul.Hello, my darling, her dulcet green eyes declared…
Or so Simms thought.
Silly man.
Like a queen, she extended her hand toward him.
She shouldn’t. He was the butler, by god. But he could not resist the touch of her. Like a swain, besotted, he took it. He would take anything she offered him. And should not.
“I’m pleased to arrive so early,” she said in that crisp little voice which she modulated so that her listeners had to lean in to hear her clearly. With a cursory glance at the expanse of the Marsden mansion, she did that little thing he called her ‘twinkle’. It was her inimitable way of shrugging her shoulders and narrowing her eyes a moment. “Have all the guests arrived?”
He met her gaze with pursed lips, understanding her usual wish to make a grand entrance so all might remark about her. “You are among the last to arrive, my lady.” Might as well add the formal address to notify her he intended to keep to his station.
“Superb.” Ignoring his marker of their social differences, she locked her green eyes on his in solemn scrutiny. “How many more do you expect?”
“Two.”
“Excellent.” She stood still as a statue as she allowed her lady’s maid to fluff out her skirts, but examined every line of his face. “What is our first gathering?”
“You have appeared in time for an informal luncheon buffet in the dining room. But the Countess will receive everyone formally tonight in the main salon.”
“Ah, so then, I have time for a nap.”
“Indeed, my lady. If there is anything you wish, we are at your service.”
“Are you?” she asked with an arch to her fine red brow. “How wonderful.”
He glanced aside and saw that his footman still awaited all her luggage to be assembled by her man.
“Do show me to my rooms.”
He shot her a look of objection. He would have his footman do that.
But she tipped her head to one side,her hat teetering on her wealth of wild red hair. “I require your assistance. Your name?”
He ground his teeth. She jolly well knew his name, even though she must appear not to before his staff. But she would not…would not…perplex him. “As you wish. The name is Simms.”
“Simms,” she said as if she tested the sound of it. “I knew a family named Simms in Norfolk. Might you be related?”
His footman was more interested in counting the quantity of hat boxes and trunks than in their conversation.
