Page 19 of A Cinderella to Redeem the Earl

She eyed the trays she had prepared to deliver to the dining room. Three trays, each platter with its own cover. By the time she had delivered all three, no doubt the dishes on the first one would be barely lukewarm.

Oh, yes, a very stupid idea.

And then there was what she was wearing. She had been torn between her usual serviceable grey gown and the gown she wore to church. A rare occurrence since she had been in service. The pale blue muslin had won out, but now she was regretting her choice. Too late to change. She slipped a shawl around her shoulders to keep out the chill in the tunnel and picked up the heaviest of the three trays.

‘Here, let me help you.’

She almost dropped the tray in shock.

He grabbed it.

‘I can manage,’ she said, hanging on to it a second longer than she should have.

‘I am sure you can.’ He smiled at her. ‘But it occurred to me that you might need to make more than one trip, unless you had some assistance.’

He looked lovely in his evening clothes. Suddenly she was very glad she had chosen her best dress. She could not help smiling back.

‘Thank you.’

He picked up the second tray, easily holding each tray in one hand, whereas she had struggled with the weight using both of hers. ‘Can you manage the last one?’ he asked.

‘Of course.’

‘Good, then we can make it in one trip, if you would be so good as to get the door.’

And so, with her opening doors for him, they made their way to the little drawing room.

‘If you would put your trays on the sideboard, there by the window,’ she said as they entered the room, ‘I think we can serve ourselves.’

He glanced around. ‘This all looks very cosy.’ He set the trays where she directed. ‘What delights do you have in store for me?’

She swallowed. Tonight he was clearly trying to be pleasant. Trying? He was devastatingly charming.

In the hopes of impressing him with her skill, she had thought most carefully about the menu. After all, feeding him was a great deal different than feeding his servants.

‘Would you care to pour yourself a libation,’ she said, ‘while I make things ready?’

She had set decanters of brandy, sherry and madeira on a small circular table beside one of the armchairs beside the hearth, where a fire burned merrily.

He walked over to inspect the offering. ‘Sherry for you?’ he asked.

Startled, she almost dropped the platter of vegetables. ‘Oh, no. Nothing for me, thank you. I will have water with dinner.’

Carefully, she organised the dishes on the sideboard and turned with a smile. He was watching her, while sipping on what must be sherry judging from the glass he was holding.

‘I hope the sherry is to your liking,’ she said. ‘I found it in the cellar you pointed out earlier.’

‘It is a very good sherry,’ he said, smiling at her. ‘I selected it myself.’

She felt her cheeks heat. She resisted the temptation to press her palms against them, to cool them.

‘Yes, of course. I beg your pardon.’

‘No need to apologise,’ he said cheerfully.

She finished laying out the dishes. ‘We can eat whenever you are ready.’ She gestured to the plates.

He set his glass down beside the decanters and strolled over to inspect her offerings. ‘I say, this looks marvellous.’