The Louise Allen Collection: The Viscount's Betrothal / The Society Catch. Louise Allen
when I was a little boy and was cast down or in the dumps for no good reason. But food always works.’
‘Do you…do you get the mulligrubs often now?’ she enquired. He ate the egg without any expression of revulsion; perhaps her cooking was not that bad.
‘I haven’t had them for years. I suspect they go away if there isn’t anyone around to cure them with a dose of toffee. Bates is awake and appreciating your bacon, too. He says that his blanking leg is hurting like blank, if his lordship will excuse him saying so, and he’d have done a better job himself on a dog, but he is sure his lordship did his best considering he hasn’t had much practice. Pru fortunately slept through that expression of gratitude for our efforts.’
‘Is he always that outspoken?’ Decima blew her nose and stuffed the handkerchief away.
‘Usually he just grunts. It was one of the longest speeches I have ever heard him make, other than that tirade when I carried him in last night. I inherited him from my father, another man of very few words, who took him on as a half-starved brat. I think they suited each other. He’s tough, loyal, damn good at his job—all qualities I would put before obsequiousness or a tendency to chatter.’
‘Indeed, yes.’ Decima pushed away her greasy plate and reached for the preserve jar. The memory of breakfast the day before and her sudden resolution came back to her. ‘Do you know, it is New Year’s Day tomorrow?’
‘So it is. We must do something to celebrate.’ Adam took the jar and began to heap gooseberry jam lavishly onto his toast. ‘We could bake a cake.’
‘No eggs. Even I know you need eggs for a cake.’
‘True. Then we will play in the snow.’
‘In the snow? But what can we do?’
‘I will think of something. Now, you are going back to bed.’ Adam poured another cup of coffee and pressed it into her hands. ‘Off you go.’
‘But I have only just got up! It is nine o’clock and there is goodness knows what to do.’
‘Such as?’ He began to push her gently towards the door. ‘Bates will be scandalised if you try and nurse him, Pru’s asleep, the horses are fine until this evening. If Pru needs you, I will wake you.’
‘But…’ Decima dug her toes in on the threshold and waved a hand at the kitchen table.
‘A few plates and some knives and forks are not going to exhaust me. They may ruin my lily-white hands, of course, if the lanolin runs out. Now go on. You are tired out.’
‘But—’
‘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