AllFreeNovel
Share Us
‘If you say that once more I will carry you. Do you want me to put you to bed?’ That was not said with the slightest edge of flirtation. That was a threat. Decima turned tail and did as she was told.
She woke when the clock struck one, although she had slept through the twelve-o’clock chimes like someone drugged. There were sounds from the adjoining room, interrupted by a fit of coughing.
Decima scrambled out of bed, dragged her stay laces to and buttoned her gown. ‘Pru? Are you awake?’
She was, bleary-eyed and very pale, but propped up in bed with a tray by her side bearing a jug of cloudy white liquid, a spoon, a bottle of Mrs Chitty’s cough linctus and the remains of what looked like a bowl of soup.
‘Hello, Miss Dessy. Did I wake you?’
‘No, not at all. Pru, I’m so sorry to have been asleep when you woke up.’ Decima perched on the edge of the bed, disturbing a pile of journals. ‘How do you feel?’
‘Weak as a baby.’ Pru grimaced. ‘But the fever seems to have burned itself out; there’s just this pesky cough left. That medicine’s good, though. His lordship brought it up, and the barley water, and some soup at luncheon time.’
‘Where on earth did he get soup?’
Pru shrugged, then coloured. ‘Don’t know, but honestly, Miss Dessy, I didn’t know where to look. I was dying for the you-know-what, but I wasn’t sure if I could walk there all by myself and he said, bold as brass, “Would you be wishing to visit the other end of the corridor, Miss Prudence?” Well, I didn’t know where to look, but do you know, he carried me, set me down outside and strolled off, all tactful like, until I opened the door again. He’s a real gentleman, even if he is a viscount.’
Perplexed, Decima tried to work that one out. ‘But, Pru, if he is a viscount, you would expect him to be a gentleman.’
‘Doesn’t follow,’ the maid said darkly. ‘Most of them are out-and-out rakes from all one hears. No woman is safe with the likes of them.’
This conjured up an image of Adam, grinning lecherously and chasing Pru’s buxom figure and Decima’s lanky one round and round the kitchen table
. Decima bit her lip and said merely, ‘I think we are safe with this particular viscount.’ She was not entirely sure whether she was glad about that. Or even whether it was entirely true. ‘Now, don’t you think you should lie down and rest again?’
‘I keep nodding off. Miss Dessy—you aren’t going downstairs looking like that, are you?’
‘Like what?’
‘Your hair is a mess, and that gown’s all crumpled and I don’t reckon you’ve laced your stays up tight, either.’ She levelled a disapproving look at Decima’s bust line.
‘I will do my hair, but I am not going to try and lace myself up tightly. I’d need to be a contortionist to do that!’
‘Let me,’ Pru nagged. ‘You want to look your best.’ Decima merely gave her speaking look over her shoulder as she went to find her hairbrush. ‘You never know,’ Pru retorted mysteriously. ‘I’ll fret if you don’t come here and let me do it.’ She managed a pathetic cough to underscore her point. ‘Men notice these things.’
Brushed, laced and uncrumpled, Decima made her way downstairs. There was silence from the kitchen, but an appetising aroma wreathed through the air.
‘Miss Ross.’ Adam emerged from one of the front rooms and sketched a bow. ‘If you would care to go into the dining room, I will bring you your luncheon.’
Decima swallowed. She had been expecting an afternoon spent in the kitchen and running up and down the stairs looking after Pru and Bates. That was safe, practical and distanced her completely from being Miss Ross, who had to make polite social conversation with a gentleman.
This particular gentleman had transformed himself from a good imitation of a groom into the perfect image of the Englishman at home in his country retreat—elegant without trying too hard just about summed it up. And heart-thumpingly attractive without trying at all. Decima remembered Pru’s approving words. No, he might not be a rake, but that did not make him any safer.
Adam observed the flicker of surprise, swiftly followed by a flash of some other emotion. Was it mischief? Laughter? Then Decima had her face perfectly under control. Now, what had provoked that?
‘Thank you,’ she said, ‘but you should let me help.’
‘Not at all.’ Adam opened the dining room door for her and smiled at her exclamation of surprise. The fire was lit, the room warm, candles flickered and he had laid the table. ‘I decided that we had had enough of playing at Below Stairs, so I have lit fires here and in the small salon and, although we might have to slip back into our roles of groom, cook, housemaid and sick nurse at regular intervals, at least we can come here afterwards. Now, if you will excuse me, Miss Ross, I will become the butler for one moment.’
She meekly took the chair he pulled out for her and shook out her napkin. Adam retreated to the kitchen, admitting to himself that he was a trifle apprehensive about her reaction to his morning efforts in the kitchen. It was an interesting novelty to be attempting to please a woman in an area where one was a complete beginner. He grinned to himself; the last time he’d been in that position he had been—what? Just seventeen? And the field of expertise to be acquired was somewhat different. Learning to cook seemed unlikely to be as fascinating, but was probably much safer.
‘Soup, ma’am.’ He set the tureen in front of her.
‘My goodness.’ Decima lifted the lid and sniffed. ‘It smells wonderful. And what is that?’
‘Ah.’ She was eyeing with cautious interest the dark brown lump he was attempting to slice. ‘Bread. I do not think it is supposed to be quite like this.’
‘I am sure it will be delicious,’ she said politely as a slice thumped onto her plate. ‘A local recipe, no doubt.’ She was teasing him, he was convinced of it. Yes, there was that wicked sparkle again. ‘Possibly it requires lemons?’
