Page 10 of Miss Harvey's Horribly Lovable Fiancé
“Not to worry, sir. I’d find it, I would.”
“I’m sure of it.”
“It’s why ye pay me so well, sir.” The old fellow gave him a wink.
Northington blithely considered the blue sky. “Indeed, Jarvis. Where would I be without you, eh?”
The fellow shot high his hoary brows. “Still in Calais, may’aps?”
“Or Toulouse,” came the statement from Smythe.
Northington chuckled. Then tipped his head to the road. “Only a mile or so more.”
“Bon!I need abees-cwee.”
“Bis-kit,Henri. Bis. Kit!”
“Exactement!” was the boy’s reply.
Northington rolled his eyes. “Why do I try?”
“Because you love to spar,” came an explanation from his valet inside the coach.
“I can dismiss all four of you!”
From all of his men came snorts.
He suppressed a chuckle and urged his horse onward. At the Hall, all his men would be happy with a cup of wine, good food and stories to exchange with those in the employ of the jovial Courtlands.
Just like his staff, the woman who awaited him knew who he really was. She thought him wise. Perhaps even funny. He hoped she knew him as honorable. More honorable than his father. More commendable certainly. If not always punctual. Or fully truthful.
But he loved her. And he had the rest of his life and hers to show her how truthful…and yes, how punctual, he would henceforth be.
She could forgive him, couldn’t she?
* * *
Her maid ranpell-mell into the kitchens and skidded to a full stop before Cook’s butcher’s block. “He’s here, Miss!”
Esme dropped the menu for tomorrow morning’s wedding breakfast on the block, untied her apron and mustered a smile for Cook. “Thank you, Mrs. Walters. This looks complete. I’m certain it will taste superbly too.”
“And the wedding cake, Miss? You like it?” Esme had sampled a bit of the leftover batter. “Your mother’s favorite?”
Raisins with last year’s dried cherries and lemon rind. Savoy, Chantilly, any cake would do. Esme worried more about her bridegroom than dessert. “Just as I like it, Mrs. Walters. I think we can agree that this is the final list.”
“You’ll tell your mother?” the woman asked as Esme spun for the hall and stairs to the first floor.
“Indeed.” Her mother was often a stickler with Walters and social events made her even testier. She’d poured over this menu every day for two weeks and had left this morning’s final approvals to Esme so she could go off to the village with the guests. “Not to worry!”
She hoisted her skirts and took the stairs up at a run when just before the landing, she stopped. Would it do to show him how worried she’d been that he had second thoughts?
She put a hand to her forehead.Steady on. I’m the one with those.
Bridal nerves. That’s all.
Foolish.
“Good morning!” She bid him when she spied him and ran ahead. He was dressed in riding attire, buff breeches, dark green coat and azure silk vest, hat off, his dark brown hair ruffled by the wind.
