Page 92 of Marry in Secret
She laughed. “Thomas, of course they’re going to think that.”
“But we’re not—not in your brother’s house.”
“Why not?”
“With your brother just down the hall? No, thank you. He’s likely to murder me in my bed—your bed.”
She laughed again. “Thomas Beresford, I never would have picked you for a prude.”
“I’m not. Just... this is your brother’s house.”
“Very well, then.” She made a careless gesture. “Stay and flirt with Lady Toffington, then. She seemed very taken with you.”
Thomas scowled and muttered something under his breath. “Very well, let’s go. But understand me, there will be no... joining of giblets.”
“No, Thomas.” She batted her eyelashes at him and led him upstairs to her old bedchamber.
***
Thomas was surprised to see everyone at table when he and Rose came down to breakfast the next morning. They were the last to arrive, and he knew full well why.
It was the usual relaxed meal, with everyone helping themselves from the covered silver dishes arranged on the sideboard. Despite her stupendous effort of the previous night, the cook and her staff had not stinted on breakfast, with a dozen hot dishes to choose from.
He was deciding between bacon, sausages and stewed mushrooms when Rose stood on tiptoe and murmured something naughty in his ear.
“What was that, Rose?” Emm had come up behind them. “Did I hear you say something about giblets?”
“Yes, it turns out Thomas is very partial to giblets in the morning.” She smiled guilelessly up at him, her eyes dancing with mischief.
“Really, Thomas?Giblets?” Emm cast a doubtful glance at a waiting footman. “I’m not at all fond of offal myself, but I suppose we could ask Mrs. Jacobs...”
“No, no,” he assured her, darting a quelling glance at his beloved. “This is more than adequate. Is Mrs. Jacobs your cook? She and her staff did a superb job with supper last night. I wonder she can provide us with anything this morning, and yet look at all this.” He gestured.
Emm beamed at him. “What a lovely thing to say, Thomas. Most gentlemen don’t even notice the efforts of servants. I’ll pass on your compliment to Mrs. Jacobs.”
The rest of the meal passed in discussion of Thomas’s new position and how his cousin would deal with it, but, as without any further facts it could only be speculation, conversation soon passed to gossipy chitchat about other things that had happened during the ball. Since these concerned people Thomas didn’t know, he didn’t take much notice. He was mentally preparing for the meeting with Cousin Cornelius.
***
At ten o’clock precisely, Galbraith arrived with Cousin Cornelius, who presented a sulky face and a put-upon air. His all-white outfit was still pristine—no doubt Galbraith’s valet had taken care of him. Wearing white was an odd affectation, Thomas thought. He might have to adopt more practical colors, now that the income of an earldom was no longer his to squander.
Thomas still found it hard to accept that he was the earl.
They went to the library, where they were unlikely to be disturbed by the busy servants still working to restore the rest of the house to its usual tranquil state. Thomas had invited Ashendon to be present, not only because it was his house but because Thomas would welcome his impressions. Rose’s too, of course, because she was better at reading people than he was.
The enmity he’d initially felt for Ashendon had faded a good deal, and though they were hardly bosom buddies, the man was very sharp. And as Rose’s brother and head of her family, he had a right to be kept informed.
Thomas questioned Cousin Cornelius closely, but the man’s answers were much the same as they’d been the previous night. He claimed he knew nothing of any ransom letters, seemed genuinely appalled to learn Thomas had been enslaved, and was openly scornful when Thomas tackled him about the regular emptying of his bank account. “Why on earth would I bother with some paltry allowance when I had the income of the whole earldom at my fingertips?”
He had a point.
He also insisted he knew nothing about the continuance of the allowance. “Nothing to do with me. Sounds as if the old man—”
“Uncle Walter or ‘the earl,’” Thomas grated. “Show some respect.” He felt ashamed now for misjudging his uncle.
Cousin Cornelius huffed. “He never liked me.”
“I can’t imagine why,” Ashendon said sardonically.
