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“IsLord Hawke taking his tea now, Mrs. Norris?”
Mrs. Norris had bustled into the kitchen after answering Lord Hawke’s summons, and was rummaging about for the tea things. “Hmmm? What’s that, Miss Templeton? Oh, the tea. Yes. Will you set the kettle on, Abby, and bring his lordship his tea?”
“Yes, Mrs. Norris.” Abby lifted the kettle onto the stove, then hurried back to puzzling over the note Cook had left with the instructions for the pastry tomorrow morning. It was her half day, so the morning baking was left to Abby.
“I can’t make any sense of this!” Abby wailed, waving the note in the air. “What does this say?”
Helena leaned over her shoulder and peered at the note. Really, Cook had the most deplorable handwriting. It was no wonder poor Abby was always in fits over it. “I believe that says currants.”
“Does it, indeed?” Abby squinted at the paper. “Yes, I think you’re right. Currant scones. I’d better get this dough prepared, or I’ll be behind tomorrow morning.”
Helena lingered beside the kitchen table, waiting until Mrs. Norris bustled back out again, then said to Abby, “Would it help if I brought Lord Hawke his tea?”
“Would you? That would help ever so much, and save me from one of his scowls, too!” Abby turned a beaming smile on her, but then her brow clouded. “Are you quite sure, Miss Templeton? He scowls at you even more fiercely than he does me.”
He did, indeed, but she’d gladly face his scowls for a chance to prod him about the curious incident she’d witnessed this morning. Well, she couldn’t prod him, exactly—a governess didn’t prod an earl—but she’d think of something.
She’d waited all day for a chance to speak to him, but it was almost as if he knew what she was up to, because the contrary man had contrived to stay well out of sight today. He’d risen early, made his way down the stairs to his study, and hadn’t emerged again for the rest of the day.
Now, at last, Mrs. Norris was busy with the upstairs housemaids, the boys were engaged with their music master, and Abby was distracted with her currant scones. She wouldn’t get another chance like this. “Certainly, I’m sure. Lord Hawke’s scowls don’t trouble me, Abby. Is there any lemon cake?”
Perhaps a thick slice of lemon cake would sweeten his temper.
“He doesn’t care for lemon cake with his tea. Mrs. Norris says he’s not fond of sweets, but prefers a plain seed cake. Can you imagine?” Abby shook her head as she busily loaded a plate with a few slices of beef and salmon, and some cheese with bread and butter. “His townhouse is in Berkeley Square, too, not far from Gunther’s! Rather a waste, really.”
“Indeed, it’s unforgivable of him.” Helena snatched up the tray as soon as Abby had settled the plate on it, and hurried toward the kitchen door.
“Wait, Miss Templeton!”
Helena turned, trying to hide her impatience. “Yes, what it is, Abby?”
“You forgot the tea.” Abby held up the teapot.
“Oh, dear, so I did! Goodness, what a goose I am. Here, put it on the end there, won’t you? Right, I’ll just deliver this, then, shall I?”
Abby was already back to her scones, and waved her off. “Yes, but mind the stairs with that tray!”
“For pity’s sake, it was one time.” Still, she did take care on the kitchen stairs, as she didn’t fancy another trayful of broken porcelain, and made her way down the corridor to Lord Hawke’s study.
“Come,” he called gruffly in response to her knock.
“Your tea, Lord Hawke.”
He blinked up at her, pausing in whatever he’d been writing. “You’re the governess, Miss Templeton, not a housemaid. Why are you delivering my tea?”
“Mrs. Norris and Abby were taken up with other duties, and I was coming this way to fetch the boys from the music room in any case, so I offered to bring it with me. Where shall I put it?”
“Just there, on the edge of the desk.”
She did as he asked, and he went back to his work, but when she didn’t leave after depositing the tea tray, he looked up again with a frown. “Is there something else you needed, Miss Templeton?”
She stared at him, a curious dryness in her throat. It hadn’t just been the flattering effects of the moonlight on his face that had stolen her breath this morning. Even in the dim light of his study, there was no denying Lord Hawke was an extraordinarily handsome man.
Goodness, she must have been making a rather strenuous effort not to have noticed it before, but it was as if that glimpseof his face outside the stables this morning had caught her off guard, and now shehadnoticed it, she couldn’t…well, un-notice it.
Of course,shewasn’t one to be swayed by a handsome face. His piercing green eyes and firm jaw didn’t make Lord Hawke any less of an arrogant, intolerable aristocrat.
An arrogant, intolerable aristocrat who braved the freezing cold to bring a dish of clotted cream to a pregnant cat?—