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She wished to be more. To be valued and respected. And she wanted to wed as well, she did. But being who she was, not only did she think the duke well out of her reach, but she also wasn’t even certain she wished to catch his fancy. Being with a duke would be so very public.
Which explained why she’d stopped in the kitchen on her way outside. She wasn’t really here for labor. Yes, she’d been carrying the bowl of bread pudding, but mostly, she’d come down for a bit of support, a kind word and just a bite of something tasty.
“Here, let me help with that.” A deep voice rumbled close to her ear.
And then a cloth was swiping at her face.
She blinked her eyes closed, a small squeak of dissent passing her lips as the cloth moved lower to her chin, neck, and shoulders.
A piece of bread slid under the neckline, the egg mixture soaking into her chemise.
She blinked her eyes open again, the man standing only inches away as he tossed aside his handkerchief and grabbed a towel.
And then, lord help her, he began swabbing at her dress.
“Sir!” she cried, as he wiped a large swath of her bodice. “That isn’t necessary.”
“Of course, it’s necessary,” he rumbled, dropping into a squat as he began removing pudding from her skirts. “I’ve ruined your gown.”
She shook her head. “Technically, I ruined it,” she whispered back, her tongue darting out to give her lips a nervous lick. They tasted of pudding.
He looked up at her, his scowl growing fiercer. “I shouldn’t have scared you like that.”
She blinked at him in surprise. He sounded angry but it must not be at her. He seemed to be apologizing. Maybe?
“It’s all right. You mistook me as staff. I was stirring pudding and I am here with Mrs. Derby.”
He rose then, tossing the towel aside and grabbing another before he set to work again.
A murmur of voices filtered down the back stairs and into the kitchen.
“In that dress?” Mrs. Derby asked, her hands travelling to her ample hips. “How could you think her anything other than a lady?”
He had the decency to wince. “It was a long journey.”
“It must have been,” Mrs. Derby sniffed back. And then her hands lowered. “Are you hungry? You look thin. Is your cook feeding you enough?”
That brought a smile to the man’s lips and the effect was devastating.
He was a powerfully built man, tall, broad, with a square jaw and the sort of eyes that might intimidate with a single glance, his dark hair swept back from his face.
But when he smiled like that, he was breathtakingly handsome and her heart gave the strangest flutter.
“I’m fine, Mrs. Derby, thank you.”
“You’re welcome, Your Grace.”
Evie blinked, looking away from the distractingly handsome man back to the kindly cook. Had she just called him…
“Evie!” her mother called from the door. “What have you gotten yourself into this time?”
“This time?” he asked, rising as he quirked a brow.
“I told you it was my fault,” she said with a sad smile. In the end her mother would forgive her but she was bound to receive hours of lectures between then and now about decorum and fortitude, and…
“Evan!” Lady Greenburg cried from next to her mother. “Why are you down here and not in your carriage?”
“His carriage?” her mother asked with a gasp and a partial swoon that would have made any debutante proud.
