“Well, one can’t be good at everything,”
“No indeed. Unless you’re Ravenshaw, of course.” At her look, he added, “Friend of mine, Marquess of Ravenshaw, have you met him?”
“Oh yes, I believe I have had an introduction. Splendidly handsome and very polished.”
“Yes, that’s him, devil of a fellow with the ladies, they all love him.”
She smiled but didn’t respond to that. Ashford went on, “Fact is, Miss Watson, I’ve noticed you don’t have your father here, no one to keep an eye out for you.”
She flushed, “Why should I need that?”
Ashford smiled kindly, “You’re an heiress, my dear, and are going to be a target for all sorts of unscrupulous fellows. If you feel at any point unsure or uncomfortable, I hope you know you can come to me. Not a relative of course, but—well, you seem to need a friend?”
Her heart lifted, and she smiled into his merry, hazel eyes. There was nothing flirtatious in his manner, unlike Lannister. He made her feel comfortable and safe, as if he truly was her friend. She appreciated that; she had precious few friends in London.
“Thank you, my lord. You’re most kind.”
*
Robert, waiting onthe steps for his carriage to be brought round, was conscious of a lowness of spirits that was uncharacteristic. The evening had gone disastrously wrong from his perspective, and he was frustrated with the situation and himself. What was it about Miss Watson that made him so wrong-footed?
His thoughts were interrupted by a plaintive mew and the pressure of something brushing up against his leg. Looking down, the lamplight revealed a black cat with emerald-green eyes rubbing round his leg, long tail curling round his stocking-clad calf.
“Hello, where did you spring from?” he asked, removing a glove with his teeth and bending down to pat the creature. It wasn’t much bigger than a kitten, yet it had already been in the wars, judging from the ragged state of one ear, and it was thin, and its fur was damp. It butted his hand with its head and rubbed its cheek against his calf.
“You’ve been having a rough time of it, haven’t you, little fellow? Or perhaps lady?”
The cat lifted its head, so he could rub it under the chin, closing those magnificent green eyes. His carriage rattled to a stop in front of him, and he sighed at the kitten, bent, picked it up, and got into the carriage with it. Setting it on the seat, he watched it kneading the upholstery with its little claws.
“What shall I call you, little lady or laddie?” She or he blinked at him and settled on the seat, Egyptian cat fashion. The carriage drew up at his door and he scooped the cat up, and letting himself into the house—it was late, past three o’clock—he shut the front door and set the cat down to explore the entrance hall while he divested himself of his hat and cloak. Then he scooped the cat up again and headed down the rear stairs to the kitchens.
It was years since he had been in the kitchens at Berkeley Square. Probably not since he was a boy, he thought. But he remembered enough to find his way around. The fire in the greathearth was banked but still gave off a strong glow and plenty of heat, making the room one of the coziest in the house. A lamp on the big refectory table gave some light, and he set down his guest while he took the lamp and investigated the pantry. Having found the milk, he spent a bit of time finding a bowl. Filling the bowl, he set it down for the cat.
“That meet with your approval?” he asked.
The cat sniffed and began to lap delicately. Robert went back to the pantry to find something more substantial and came back with a ham, some bread, and butter. He was setting these out on the table and reaching for the carving knife when a shocked voice made him look round.
“Your Grace, what are you doing here?’
He smiled. “Mrs. Holloway, I brought you a mouser,” he waved at the cat. “Both of us could do with a snack.” He waved the carving knife.
Mrs. Holloway, his housekeeper, dressed in a robe and slippers, came toward him protesting. “Let me do that, Your Grace. It’s not seemly, you waiting on yourself and a cat.”
He smiled whimsically. “I don’t mind. Fetch me some ale while I carve this ham. Would you like some?”
“Your Grace!” she said, scandalized.
The knife hovered over the ham as he raised an eyebrow.
“Just a sliver if you insist, Your Grace,” she said coyly, disappearing to find the ale. She came back with a jug and two tankards, a plum cake, and a wodge of cheese. She poured the ale, sliced and buttered the bread, cut the cheese into generous wedges, and cut two slices of the plum cake. She fetched plates and made him a ham sandwich and served the cat some ham and cheese on a plate.
“Where did you find her, Your Grace?”
“Is it a female?”
“Aye, judging by... the look of her,” she said.
“I shall call her Emerald for those magnificent eyes, Em for short,” he said, tucking into his sandwich. “She found me. I was waiting for the carriage, and she just appeared, rubbing round my legs. I don’t think she’s fully grown.”
