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“It’s difficult to say, but it never hurts to err on the side of caution. I’ll speak to Prunella—she’ll come up with excuses if he asks for you. As I said, it would be completely unlike him, but I feel responsible for you. I should send you on your way, but we at Renwick are well aware of the difficult position you are in. I would never forgive myself if something happened to you.”
She smiled up at him gratefully. “I think you’re mistaken. The Dark . . . the viscount is far too proud to be interested in me. I’ve been the object of men’s flirtations since I was fifteen years old, and I assure you Viscount Griffiths is showing none of the signs.” It was true; that heavy, intense gaze was something totally unfamiliar.
“He doesn’t wish to court you, Miss Sophie. I’m concerned that he wishes to bed you. Pardon my plain speaking, but you’re on the other side now, and gentlemen do not always behave with perfect propriety. To my knowledge the master has never lowered himself to interfere with the servants, but I merely wished to caution you.”
He had to be wrong, but Sophie felt a rush of gratitude. People were looking out for her, caring for her well-being. She was no longer so alone. “Thank you, Mr. Dickens. I’ll be very careful.”
He gave a slight bow. “I also need to inform you that you are to stay away from the east aspect of the house in the afternoons. This is a rule for all the members of the household. His lordship swims in the reflecting pool in what I gather used to be the rose garden, and he insists on no witnesses.”
The loss of Bryony’s roses still rankled. “Why?” she said, trying to damp down her anger. “Does he swim in the altogether?”
Dickens looked faintly shocked. “Certainly not, miss! He just doesn’t wish to be spied upon.”
“I couldn’t care less about spying on the man,” she said airily, for the moment forgetting that she’d spent the last month going to a great deal of effort to do just that.
“Of course, miss. And when you come up with a few days’ worth of menus, I’ll be the one to take them to his lordship, to spare you.”
“His lordship, not his mother?”
“Mrs. Griffiths is his stepmother, and there’s no love lost between the two of them. She has a much more avid interest in food, and the viscount prefers to thwart her.”
“Childish of him.”
“We do not criticize our . . .” Dickens stopped as he realized what he was about to say. He sighed. “It’s best not to discuss those abovestairs. I beg your pardon, miss, but I worry about you.”
It was pure instinct on her part. She reached up and gave him a kiss on his rough cheek, and he flushed in embarrassment. “You’re very—”
“Do I interrupt?” The viscount’s soft voice did just that, and Sophie and the butler sprang apart, suddenly guilty.
Sophie recovered her composure faster. “I was thanking Mr. Dickens for his excellent guidance, my lord.” She was quite proud of herself for remembering the “my lord” part. “He was informing me that everyone avoids the east aspect of the house in the afternoons while you partake of your improving exercises.” She was hoping to goad him, just the tiniest bit, not for her sake but to pay him back for startling Dickens.
But Alexander Griffiths simply gave her that wicked smile. “Oh, they’re hardly improving. They’re more a matter of . . . maintenance. My temper is far more sanguine when I’m able to get a bit of exercise. Otherwise I’m an absolute bear, aren’t I, Dickens?”
“Good heavens, no, my lord!” Dickens managed to protest.
“Why don’t you ride, as most gentlemen do?” Sophie said curiously, then realized her mistake as both of the men turned to stare at her, Dickens with horrified eyes, the viscount with wry amusement.
“I do appreciate your concern, but I ride when I wish to go someplace. I happen to have a particular affinity for water. My mother used to say I was part seal.”
Sophie blinked, picturing the mean-looking dowager she’d seen the night before, then reminded herself that the woman was his stepmother. “I thought seals preferred the ocean to freshwater.” She heard Dickens’s shocked intake of breath, but it was too late to do anything about it.
“You should come with me, Madame Camille,” the butler said hastily, clamping a hand on her arm.
It was removed a second later by the viscount. “I’m afraid Cook and I hadn’t quite finished our conversation when you interrupted us, Dickens,” the viscount said in a silken voice. “I’ll send her along in a moment.”
Dickens was looking distressed. “I don’t mind waiting, my lord. Madame Camille is new to the house and she might not be able to find her way . . .”
“This staircase leads directly down to the kitchens. You know better than I how dim-witted she might be, but I imagine it would be fairly difficult to lose her way in such a short distance.”
Dickens cast a worried glance at Sophie’s fulminating countenance. “Yes, my lord,” he said helplessly, and slipped behind the baize door.
“Dim-witted?” Sophie echoed, her voice deceptively dulcet. “Have I given you any particular reason to suspect I’m devoid of my full complement of wits?”
That half smile again. “I knew it would annoy you. How do you like being called ‘Cook’?”
She barely managed to control her glare—she hadn’t liked it at all and he knew it. “Do you always bully your servants the way you did Dickens?”
“Oh, you give him too little credit. Dickens has been looking after me since I was fourteen years old and he’s used to my ways. He’s wise enough to know when to keep his mouth shut. A trick you could learn.”
