Page 45 of The Return of the Rake

“If I have at any time failed to give satisfaction, sir—”

“Oh, stow it, you old ham,” King said with a snort. “He’s a skinny young lad of around fourteen. The poor fellow reminds me of myself at his age and needs a helping hand before he goes to the devil. I intend to give him that hand, God help me, and you’re going to do likewise. For I shall need you to train him up, Repton. It’s a demanding job, I know, for there’s much to learn, but I’m sure you’ll be an excellent teacher. I’ll be sure to up your wages to cover the extra work,” he added, certain that this would sweeten the pill.

“An apprentice?” Repton suggested, brightening perceptibly.

“Yes, if you like,” King agreed, liking the notion. “He can’t read or write and I’m not too certain he knows how to wash, but a clever fellow like you can help me get him into shape. He could be a footman once he’s learnt the way of it. You’d like that, eh? Being butler in a household with a footman?”

Repton did like it, King saw at once, and he hid a smile. It would suit Repton’s notions of grandeur to have someone working beneath him. Especially if it were someone he had the job of training up and bossing about a little.

“Shall I like him, sir?” Repton asked dubiously. “And are we at risk of having him pinch the silver?”

“Yes, and yes,” King replied dryly. “But we’ll give him the benefit of the doubt, eh? Still, make sure you lock up any valuables until we’re sure of him.”

“Oh, I always do, sir,” Repton replied, aghast at the notion he might not be as careful as he ought with his master’s property.

“I know it. Good fellow. Now, I think I’d best shave before I go down to dinner. Get me some hot water, would you?”

“At once, sir.”

Anne’s heart gave an excited kick behind her ribs as she entered the dining room and saw Mr King sitting there. Rather to her surprise, he was sitting with Captain Dearborn and Major Hancock, and she admitted to a sense of apprehension as she drew closer to bid them a good evening.

“Gentlemen, I hope you are finding the roast pork to your satisfaction?” she asked, looking from one to the other and doing her best not to allow her gaze to linger on King.

“Delicious,” the major said, smacking his lips appreciatively. “The crackling is perfect, and the applesauce a triumph, and as for the roast potatoes, quite divine. Mrs Fairway has outdone herself, and that’s a fact.”

“How splendid,” Anne said with a laugh. “I shall tell her but just wait until you taste the orange pudding she has made. It’s quite magnificent, I assure you.”

The major groaned and patted his stomach. “I shall need to let out my buttons again,” he said ruefully, but tucked back into the roast pork with no less enthusiasm.

Anne smiled, catching King’s eye as she was about to leave. He sent her a sly wink, which made her colour rise like she was the silliest chit just out of the schoolroom. Turning away in confusion, Anne hurried back to the kitchen, cursing herself for acting like such a ninny.

Mrs Fairway looked up as she entered, noting her heightened colour. “I take it Mr King is dining with us tonight?” she said mildly.

Anne returned an arch look and said nothing but retreated to her small office to check over the accounts. Upon settling herself at her desk, she found a sealed envelope addressed to her in a familiar hand.

Slicing it open, she confirmed it was from Isabelle Honeywell and read the short missive with mingled dismay and growing admiration for King.

She stayed there long after service had ended, and the dinner guests had taken their leave. There were only three guests staying at the hotel this week: the other two were an old man whose roof had all but fallen in, escaping the builders whilst they made repairs, and another in his late fifties, visiting the town to attend his niece’s wedding. The old man had long since gone to bed, and the wedding guest had arranged that Mr Cogger let him in around two in the morning, for he did not expect to return any earlier.

That just left Jasper King.

Finally judging it safe, Anne left the sanctuary of her private space and walked along the corridor, daring to peek into the guests’ parlour.

There, just as she had hoped, Mr King lounged in a chair before the fire, his long legs sprawled out before him, a book in his hand. He looked up as she entered, a lazy smile curving over his lips.

“I hoped you might join me for a drink,” he said, looking as if he had never doubted she would do so.

Anne bristled a little at his confidence, though she could hardly blame him. Had she not kissed him with unbecoming enthusiasm? And was she not most eager to do so again, despite the risk to her reputation, which was already on uncertain ground in this town?

Unwilling to consider her motives too closely, she closed the parlour door.

“Brandy?” she guessed, moving to the locked cupboard and searching for the correct key.

“Thank you, and one for yourself,” he replied.

Anne did not turn, but she felt his gaze upon her back, felt the heat of it prickle down her neck.

“I wanted to thank you,” she said, glad her voice was steady, for her hand trembled a little as emotion and anticipation sent her nerves dancing about like skittish horses.