“I feel so…inadequate sometimes, Oliver, and…” She paused. Her little speech hadn’t included a greeting or pleasantries. “Hello, Oliver.”
He took a step forward. “Lowdy?” But she held out a palm.
“No, please, stay there.”
She forced her gaze from his fine form, dressed in simply a linen shirt, unbuttoned waistcoat and breeches.
“I’ve never been good at anything,” she stuttered. “So, when the Earl of Fowlmere granted me attention, I lapped it up like a kitten does cream.”
“Lowd–”
“No, let me say this.” She fiddled with her pelisse, noticed she’d unravelled a hem. “I-I thought he loved me. I thought I would be a wife. I thought at last I’d found something I could be good at, even though the old countess would make me walk with books on my head and cackle when they fell…” A sob caught, and she stilled her trembling lip with a palm. “But then Fowlmere told me of his impending marriage to that debutante whilst the old countess sneered I’d the grace of a drunk chicken and…he laughed.”
“Lowd–”
“I-I always liked you, Oliver, but you were so attentive to everyone that I thought I was just one of many who liked you. And then…I was so horrible to you in Cornwall.” She straightened her shoulders. “I claimed I couldn’t marry you because I was a lady and you a valet, but that is not the truth… It is I who does not deserve you, Oliver. I was so afraid you would realise how useless I am if I accepted your suit. You deserve more, a girl who can cook–”
“I can prepare my own supper, Lowdy, and you are not–”
“Or stitch your stockings straight or bring in a useful wage.”
“Lowd–”
“And that is what I thought in Cornwall, but when you left… It hurt so without you. And I-I realised I would do anything to be with you. So…” She patted her lemon dress. “I love you, Oliver Miggens, and I’m proud you’re a valet. You’re a wonderful valet, and if you still want me, I’ll find work doing…something.”
He strode over, ignoring her protest, but she hadn’t reached the final part of her speech yet, leaving the worst until last, so she held a hand to his chest. His heart thumped a pace.
“No, Oli, there is more.” She drew a deep breath. “I also must tell you, and you will hate me, but the earl, we…he…”
Firm lips swooped, broad palms held, and he kissed her, resolute yet gentle, before those lips streaked to her wet cheeks.
“Oh, Lowdy, my love, I know,” he mumbled against her hair. “A valet knows everything.” He drew back, stared into her eyes, unwavering. “I heard you crying afterwards and wanted to rip Fowlmere’s head off, but at that time, I was unsure of his intentions. The most I could do was put rancid milk in his tea.”
She gasped. “I remember him ill for two days; I thought it was me!” It shouldn’t be funny but a giggle emerged nevertheless. “Oli, you poisoned an earl.”
“He hurt you, and I…I wanted you, Lowdy, despite our stations in life. That blaggard never deserved you.”
They kissed and kissed and kissed some more and Lowdy thought maybe there was something she was good at, because Oliver moaned and pressed her close, closer still, hands roaming as though he’d never get enough.
“But I’m so useless at–”
Fingers caught her words. “Don’t you dare, Lowdy Treherne,” he commanded with fire. “I saw you with that old bat of a countess, catering to her every whim. I watched you with Miss Penrose, how you support and encourage her. I noticed you with Mrs Pencally, rushing around with sherry and cushions. A person’s worth should not be determined by tea or stitches but caring words and thoughtful deeds and that is what I fell in love with. You always think of others. So unselfish. Tending and toiling until your own exhaustion.”
Oh.
He brushed her cheek and she realised tears were tumbling.
“Be my wife, Lowdy?” he whispered. “I am yours, will always be yours. We will be loyal, devoted, loving. I can feel it. We belong, Lowdy, and when we are together it is as though I’m a king not a valet.”
And she didn’t feel worthless or useless or ruined. She didn’t care if her status was that of a lady or valet’s wife or companion or milkmaid. There was only one thing she wanted to be.
“Yes. Yes, I will. I want to be Mrs Oliver Miggens.” And she reached up on tiptoes for a kiss.
∞∞∞
“Jack, are you listening?”
No, he wasn’t. He was gazing at a moth flittering by the candelabra, wondering if it was aEuplexia lucipara.“Forgive me, Aideen, could you repeat that? The orchestra is rather loud.”
