Teatime with a Knight (Matchmakers in Time Book 2)

by Kit Morgan

  Benny’s entire body shook with indecision. He’d never seen so much cash before. He closed his eyes, took a deep breath, opened them. “She went to England. Sus … suspect, I think. No, that’s not right … um … I don’t know, she took some teaching job.”

  The men holding him looked at each other. “Sussex?” the shorter one guessed.

  “Yeah, that’s it!” Benny said. “Now gimme the cash!”

  The boss mused on this. “Sussex … teaching position … yes, I suppose that’s good enough.” He nodded at his men. “Mr. Graves, help Mr. Phelps out of the car.”

  The tall man got out, dragging Benny with him and shoved him to the ground. He got back in the limo and it started up.

  “Hey!” Benny jumped to his feet. “What about my money!”

  The wad of cash flew out the window, hit him in the chest and fell to the ground.

  Benny snatched it up as the limo pulled away, leaving the parking lot. He watched it go, then stared at the cash, his heart sinking to his toes. “Oh, no,” he whispered as he began to shake again. “What have I done?” And what kind of trouble was Tory in?

  Chapter Nine

  Tory woke from her nap just in time for tea. The notion of partaking in such a time-honored tradition made her feel special, even a little giddy. It was one thing to read about it in romance novels, another to have a proper English tea in an actual English manor with a real duke and duchess. But how real were the Sayers? And would she have to pretend she was in the Victorian era 24/7, or would they give her some breaks?

  A few minutes later, Becky showed up to help her dress. Ah, to have someone like Becky around all the time – bliss! But she was playing a part too, so Tory resumed her questioning of the maid. She was as good a place to start as any. “Becky, how long have you worked for the duke and duchess?”

  “Oh, a long time – since I was a child.”

  “What?!”

  Becky jumped. “I beg your pardon, Miss Tory.”

  “I’m sorry, that was overreacting. I didn’t mean to scare you.”

  Becky tried to calm herself. “That’s all right. But it shouldn’t be a surprise – it’s not uncommon for a servant to start at a very young age and work their way up.”

  Tory gaped at her. She couldn’t imagine being a housekeeper or whatever Becky was, starting in grade school. She could hardly stand her housekeeping job at the motel. Didn’t the girl want to get into something else? “What is it you really want to do?” she couldn’t help asking.

  “Do?”

  “Yes – you know, go to college, get your degree, have a real career?” All the things I never got to do and wound up doing exactly what you’re doing … hmmm, maybe this wasn’t such a good thing to talk about. “Never mind, you don’t have to answer that. Do I look all right?”

  “Oh, Miss Tory, you look beautiful,” she said with a smile – of relief? Did she not want to talk about her past? Obviously, or she wouldn’t have changed the subject. “Let me fix your hair.”

  Tory sighed, went to the dressing table and sat. As Becky fiddled with her updo, Tory thought about her own lack of education, the jobs she’d had over the last eight years, the struggle scrimping and scraping after her mother died. Not to mention taking care of Benny … oh gosh, should I call him? Has he trashed the house yet?

  “How’s that, Miss Tory? Do you like it?”

  Tory had been so wrapped up in her thoughts she didn’t realize Becky had altered the style completely. “Wow! Becky, you should take some cosmetology classes, start your own business …”

  “Cosmo-what, Miss Tory?”

  “Never mind, I’ll explain later.” They must call it something else in England. “I better get downstairs. Am I late?”

  “Not yet, but you will be if you don’t hurry.”

  “Thanks. Okay, I’m off … oh, wait. Where are they having tea?”

  “In Her Grace’s private drawing room.”

  “The room where I was introduced to her this morning?”

  “No, that was the main drawing room.”

  Tory remembered there were thirty-six rooms in the house. “I’m not sure where that is.”

  “Don’t worry, Miss Tory, I’ll show you.”

  Tory followed her downstairs, behind the grand staircase, through the double doors on the left into a hall, left down another hall and finally to the duchess’s private drawing room.

  “Oh wow,” Tory said. If she thought the other drawing room was nice, it was nothing compared to this. The space screamed “feminine,” done in pink, rose and light green like pictures she’d seen in house magazines. It also reminded her of what Becky had clad her in – her dress was covered in tiny rosebuds that looked like they matched the wallpaper pattern. Was it intentional? She’d have to ask Becky later.

  “Good afternoon,” the duchess greeted. “I trust …” She licked her lips and took a deep breath. “… your outing with Sir Aldrich went well?”

  “Yes, it was a lot of fun.” Tory studied her a moment. “Um, are you all right?”

  “Of course. Please sit down.” Her Grace indicated the spot next to her on the rose-colored antique sofa. “Tea?”

  “Oh, yes, thank you,” Tory said cheerfully. She watched the duchess pour her a cup and took it with a smile, adding some sugar and giving it a stir.

  “Not like that, d-dear,” the duchess said. “Like this.” She moved her spoon back and forth in the cup.

  Tory watched and did the same, clinking her spoon against the china.

  “Silently, without … a sound,” the duchess advised.

  Tory laughed. “Me? Not likely – I’m kind of clumsy.”

  The duchess, though smiling, made a face. “Do not worry. We … w-will work on that.”

  Tory took a sip of tea, enjoying the feel of the warm liquid as it reached her belly and sighing in contentment. But it was time to get to business. “So what exactly do you need help with?”

  The duchess looked at her and smiled again. “I b-break my sentences at times t-to speak properly. If I don’t break, I tend t-to stutter. You’ll notice I speak slowly.”

  “Yes, I did notice. How long have you struggled with this?”

  “Since I got my voice b-b-back.” The duchess looked as if she was bracing herself. Tory had seen her do it before, when they were in the other drawing room. “It’s much better than …” She closed her eyes and swallowed. “… than it was.”

  Tory nodded. “And you’re not from around here, I take it? You’re also from America?”

  “Yes.”

  “But you have an accent. It sounds French.”

  “It is.”

  Tory smiled. “Wow, how did you wind up in America? Were you born there?”

  “No, I was b-b-born in Canada.”

  That explains it, Tory thought. She was about to ask another question when Sir Aldrich entered. “I apologize for being late, Your Grace.”

  The duchess waved it off. “The pleasure of your c-c-company, Aldrich, makes up for it.”

  “You’re too kind.” He smiled and turned to Tory. “Ah, Miss Phelps. So lovely to see you again.”

  “Ditto,” she said brightly and took another sip.

  He laughed. “I do love the way you converse. I take it that means the feeling is mutual? Or am I amiss in my answer?”

  “Amiss?” Tory said. “Um, no, if that means you’re wrong.”

  “It does indeed.” He took a seat in a large tufted pink chair.

  Tory bit her lower lip to keep from laughing. He looked so out of place in the room, masculine and strong, like he could break everything here with his bare hands. She bit her lip and looked away. Her chest and belly surged with heat, and not from the tea.

  “Did you rest?”

  “What?” she said as her head swung around. “Yeah, great. You could sleep for a week in that bed.”

  He sent the duchess a quizzical look.

  “She is in the Swan Room.”

  “Ah yes, with the swan b
ed. Good choice.”

  “What’s your room like?”

  “I’m in the Highland Room. It suits my tastes.”

  “What’s the Highland Room?” Tory asked. Did they use the estate as some sort of bed-and-breakfast? That would explain some things. Maybe the duchess’s historical fantasies were part of what guests paid for.

  “Rugged, spartan – what one might expect from the Scottish Highlands,” he said.

  “You should take Miss Phelps … on a tour,” the duchess suggested. “After tea.”

  He glanced between the two women and smiled. “Excellent idea.”

  Tory felt a thrill race up her spine – at the thought of seeing the rest of the house. She glanced at Aldrich over the rim of her cup as she took another sip. Oh, who are you kidding? she thought. You want to spend more time with him!

  He also took a sip and watched her. Apparently the feeling was mutual. Oh geez, now what? Was he really into her, or just being friendly? She knew she had looks, but she felt like a country bumpkin compared to these people. He was a real English gentleman-type; she was the ex-housekeeper of a seedy motel in the ghetto part of Stockton, ex-waitress in cheap restaurants, ex-fast food cashier, ex-babysitter. Hardly the stuff dreams were made of. But this job could be, so she didn’t dare blow it by flirting with the client’s guest.

  After they finished their tea, Aldrich stood and offered his arm. “Shall we?”

  Tory got up, wiped her palms on her skirt and smiled. She was nervous - the man looked so dashing. He’d changed into a dark jacket, gray vest, dark tie and slacks topped off with black shoes. To her, he looked ready for a wedding. I wonder what he’d look like in a white T-shirt and tight jeans? She suddenly felt her cheeks grow hot and admonished herself. Stop it, Tory! Enjoy his company while you have it, but whatever you do, don’t flirt!

  She smiled shyly as the last two words echoed in her brain. But it was hard not to respond to him. He was so masculine she could barely stand it. She’d never met anyone like him – the only persons to come close were Mr. MacDonald and the duke himself. Speaking of which, where was the duke? “Have you seen your friend?” she asked as Aldrich escorted her out of the drawing room. “His Grace, I mean.” Good grief, she couldn’t think straight. Maybe she’d better get away from this guy for a while. But extracting her arm from his would be rude, wouldn’t it?

  “You mean Duncan?” he said with a chuckle. “Briefly, yes. I’ll speak with him again this evening. He’s a busy man, you know, and doesn’t stop work on my account.”

  “He doesn’t?”

  “I insist he not. We have plenty of time to catch up, and he manages to take me along now and then while he works. So there’s no shortage of time spent together.”

  “That’s good. I wouldn’t want to steal you from him.”

  “On the contrary.” He led her down another hall, stopped and looked at her, really looked at her. She felt like a book that had just been opened for the first time. He leafed through her pages with that gaze, stopping occasionally to read.

  Her mouth went dry and she smiled weakly. “Contrary to what?”

  He smiled back, and her knees went weak. “My stealing you from him. I admit I enjoy spending time with you. Any woman who can put up with my lack of skill at teaching her to cast …”

  “What are you talking about, lack of skill?” she blurted. “You were wonderful!”

  His eyes roamed her face, landed on her lips and stayed there. Holy moley, was he going to kiss her? She licked them just in case as she shuddered.

  “Are you cold?” he asked gently. “I can have Becky fetch you a shawl.”

  “No,” she squeaked. He was driving her over the edge – of what, she wasn’t sure, but she sensed she was at a precipice and if she wasn’t careful he’d shove her off. Or she’d jump voluntarily.

  He chuckled. “If I didn’t know any better, Miss Phelps, I’d venture I make you nervous.”

  “Me? Nervous? No way, ha ha …”

  He smiled as his eyes explored her face once more. “I dare say,” he said softly. “But you …” He abruptly looked away. “You haven’t seen this part of the house, have you?”

  She was hit with a strange feeling of separation. That was new. “No, not yet. That’s why you’re giving me the grand tour, remember?”

  He nodded and smiled. “Quite. Shall we, then?”

  Tory was unsure what to say. They’d shared something a moment ago, something special. He’d seen her – really seen her – and she’d caught the tiniest glimpse of him. He was lonely, she could tell. She swallowed hard and took a deep breath. “Yes. Onward.”

  Sir Aldrich patted her hand and continued down the hall.

  Aldrich, you cad, he thought as he continued the tour. What are you doing? She’s Duncan’s hired tutor, an employee in his household! Well beneath your station …

  Or was she? For all he knew, she was above him. He’d never know unless he started asking questions. That was the real reason he needed to slow down – this was no foreign chit he could dally with, even if his dallying days weren’t over. If he was going to get himself tangled up with a woman, let it be in marriage. The duchess was right, it was time he settled down, had an heir to leave his estate and holdings to, carry on the family name …

  But with this woman? Hardly – she was the wrong choice by half. He’d be a fool to think she would be right for him. Yet he couldn’t stop thinking about her all afternoon. And didn’t he just admit he was showing her the house to spend more time with her, to get to know her better?

  “How big is your estate?”

  Aldrich, startled, took a breath. He’d been obsessed with his attraction to her, fishing for an outcome he could never have. “Not as big as this, if that’s what you want to know.”

  “No, I was just asking. I know this one is exceptional.”

  “Mine’s not nearly so grand.”

  “Considering you’re not a duke, I kind of figured,” she said with a bemused smile.

  “Well, then, to further answer your question … I have four servants – a butler, housemaid, cook and stable boy.”

  “More than I’ll ever have.”

  He stopped again at the door to the library. “How many do you employ?”

  She laughed. “None, of course.”

  But of course she didn’t – she was a mere tutor, not even a governess. He studied her delicate features again. She was so beautiful and he could easily see her at his table, sharing meals, going on outings, playing with …

  He cleared his throat. He needed to stop being so silly – his family didn’t marry into the working class. “This is the library,” he announced, opening the door.

  “Oh my,” Miss Phelps whispered as they entered. “This is so cool.”

  “You’re cold?”

  “No,” she said with a laugh. “Another American saying.” Then she gave him an odd look. “You don’t use ‘cool’ here? I thought it was used everywhere.”

  “No, here it means that one is cold.”

  She giggled. He liked the sound. Blast.

  “In more ways than one.” Duncan peeked around the wing chair he was sitting in, a book in his hand.

  “Forgive us, Your Grace,” Aldrich said.

  “There are no servants in here, man – use my name.”

  Aldrich smiled at Tory and led her to the chair. “I’m giving Miss Phelps a tour of the house, Duncan. You don’t mind, do you?”

  “Of course not.” Duncan stood, set the book on the chair and stretched. “I trust you enjoyed tea with my wife?”

  “We did,” Miss Phelps said before Aldrich could answer. “Very much.”

  “Good. And I’m glad Aldrich here is showing you around. The first time my relatives from America came to visit, they kept getting lost.”

  She laughed. “I can see how. This place is huge.”

  “Large, yes, but mostly unused. We don’t get many visitors.” He exchanged a quick look with Aldrich, who knew well he was the on
ly one who came here for any length of time. But that was because he was welcome – unlike those who only wished to gather gossip to take back to London.

  “That’s too bad,” she said. “This must be a great place to hold parties.”

  “Yes, it is,” Duncan agreed. “Maybe we’ll host one while you’re here.”

  She paled, and Aldrich felt his spine stiffen. What was wrong? He tightened his hold on her arm in reassurance – for her, or him? “And how long will she be here exactly?”

  “Miss Phelps is working with the duchess on a trial basis. If my wife’s speech improves, she stays.”

  Miss Phelps pulled at her arm. “Um, excuse me, but, that’s not what I was told,” she said.

  Aldrich held fast “Oh?”

  “No. Mr. Mosgofian said that yes, this was a trial period, but should I pass, I’ll be getting my own class to teach.”

  “Oh, yes,” Duncan said. “Forgive me – I stand corrected. Do you want an entire class?”

  She stared at him, mouth half-open. “To be honest, I don’t know. Tutoring an individual and teaching a classroom full of people are two different things.”

  “Indeed they are,” Aldrich agreed. “Especially as a woman.”

  She looked at him, eyes full of challenge. “What’s that supposed to mean? Don’t tell me you don’t have women teachers here.”

  “Of course we do, but mostly as tutors and governesses. Most public and private educators of various institutions are men. Isn’t that how it is in America?”

  “Heck, no.”

  His eyebrows went up. “Heck?”

  Her frown deepened. “You’d prefer I said ‘hell’?”

  Duncan cringed – at her expletive or his reaction, Aldrich couldn’t tell. No matter – he needed to stop this absurd attraction and set about finding a real prospect for marriage. Perhaps he should speak with Duncan about it. But first, he needed to discharge his current duties. He turned back to Miss Phelps. “Would you like to see the fencing room?”

  “Sure.” She returned her attention to Duncan. “Maybe we could talk later about what Mr. Mosgofian told me. It sounds like we were told two different things.”