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Or, worse, was that why Rawcliffe had practically insisted she take the footman out with her today? Because he needed to clear his head? Or he didn’t have enough to do down here and needed to be kept from the lure of the taverns?
Her eyes lit on her visitor, a tall girl who was sitting on one of the fireside chairs, twisting the strings of a very large and lumpy reticule between gloved fingers.
She leapt to her feet, as though in alarm. And only just avoided striking her forehead on one of the beams supporting the ceiling. And then as she dropped into an awkward curtsy, the tip of one flailing elbow caught a spray of roses that somebody had put into a jug on a side table. There might have been no harm done if the girl had just left it, but instead, she whirled round to try to steady the flower arrangement. And succeeded only in knocking the whole lot, jug and all, into the hearth with an almighty crashing of breaking pottery and splashing of water, and sizzle of burning roses as a few of them landed on the embers.
‘Oh, no!’ The girl dropped to her knees by the fire and began plucking smouldering roses from the grate, scattering them over the hearthrug in the process.
Clare got the horrid feeling that if she didn’t stop her visitor, the girl would end up setting the cottage on fire in her frantic efforts to undo the minimal damage she’d already caused.
‘Kendall!’ Better to summon a drunken footman than attempting to deal with such a large and highly strung visitor on her own.
Kendall flung open the door, sized up the situation in a heartbeat and strode into the room.
‘Excuse me, miss,’ he said, taking the girl by the elbows and lifting her aside as though she weighed no more than a feather pillow.
‘I’m so sorry,’ said the girl, peeping round Kendall’s shoulder as he began stamping out the parts of the hearthrug that had begun smouldering. ‘Things of this sort are always happening to me. I’m so clumsy. I am sure you wish me at Jericho. I… It was good of you to receive me, but considering the…’ she waved at the charred hearthrug and the fragments of broken pottery, causing Kendall to duck as her reticule whooshed past his head ‘…I had better go.’
‘No, please,’ said Clare, as the girl made for the door. ‘The hearth rug is of no consequence. At least, I suppose we will have to pay for the damage, since it is a rented house…’ She quirked an eyebrow at Kendall.
‘Mr Slater will see to it, my lady. And I shall have this cleaned up in a trice.’
‘There, you see?’ Her heart went out to the poor girl, who was wringing her hands and looking utterly woebegone. ‘And it doesn’t matter that the fire has gone out, either. It is a lovely day outside and I’m sure I have no idea why anyone thought it necessary to light it in the first place. Kendall will take no time to put all to rights and then we shall have some tea.’
‘Oh, no, really, I only came on behalf of my grandfather, who wanted to speak with Lord Rawcliffe. Only then curiosity got the better of me. I… I have always wanted to see inside these little cottages, you see,’ she finished apologetically. ‘They look so quaint.’
‘Yes, they are quaint,’ she said above Kendall’s bent back, as he deftly rolled up the charred hearth rug round the remains of the roses and fragments of pottery. ‘Though charming. But you must tell me your name, you know.’
‘Oh! Oh, of course. Yes, it’s Miss Hutton, my lady,’ she said, blushing and dropping into another equally inelegant curtsy. And knocking Kendall, who’d been on the point of getting to his feet, back to his hands and knees again.
‘Oh, I am so sorry,’ she said, holding out her hand as though intending to help the hapless footman to his feet.
‘Think nothing of it, miss,’ said Kendall, backing hastily away, the hearth rug clutched to his chest. ‘I shall…just take the worst of the…that is… I shall take this lot to the kitchen and send Maggie in with the tea tray,’ he babbled, backing away to the door.
‘Oh, dear,’ said the lanky girl, watching his hasty departure. ‘I have scared him off. I have a tendency to do that to men,’ she said wistfully. ‘And as for tea,’ she said, turning to Clare with a sad little smile, ‘you had probably better not invite me to stay. I shall probably only spill it. Or worse.’
