Alice couldn’t imagine a way to decline gracefully, and at least the kitchen wasn’t the breakfast room. She would manage to avoid her sister’s attempts to present the Marquess of Brumley, undoubtedly a toad, as a charming fairy-tale prince. “Thank you, Mrs. Hoyle.”
She followed the old hen to the kitchen, where the few maids at the table jumped to attention to greet her, causing Alice to blush and mutter an apology for interrupting them. The three maids all ran off to attend to duties elsewhere in the house despite Alice’s protestations to stay put, and Mrs. Hoyle excused herself to ask Mr. Finch about the gloves, leaving Alice to stand alone next to the great table where the servants took their meals.
Off in the adjoining room, she could see Mrs. Mallows covered in flour as she rolled out dough and occasionally cursed at Sally, the kitchen maid. A footman rushed right by Alice with a tray, not even noticing her in his haste to fetch what he was after and get back to the breakfast room. Glad to go unnoticed, Alice stepped into a shadowy corner to wait for Mrs. Hoyle’s inevitable return with the news that her gloves were not to be found.
“Looking for your next victim, Lady Alice?”
“Mr. Winthrop.” He hadn’t failed to notice her. His voice ran over her like one of the velvet gloves she claimed to be missing, causing her heart to beat faster. She turned and stepped back into the light. “I’m not sure I know what you mean. I’m waiting for Mrs. Hoyle to confirm if she could find something I’ve lost.”
“Oh, is that the ruse? You’ve lost something. Meanwhile, you’re deciding which of the servants to trail after all day asking questions to the point of vexation.” He laughed. Laughed! What a rare occasion. Never mind that he was laughing at her, she was entranced by the way his eyes lightened ever so slightly from black to cobalt with his mirth. So dark were his eyes, so normally inscrutable, that she’d had no idea that they were actually a very deep blue and not brown at all. Or maybe they simply appeared cobalt in the light, drawing from the dark blue of his coat.
Forgetting herself, she took a step closer to examine them. He seemed to hesitate an extra second, staring back at her, but he didn’t move away. “Naturally, Mrs. Hoyle will come along any moment now to report that she was unable to find the item, for you’ve lost nothing at all. What really brings you to Thornbrook Park?”
“Why, you, Logan. I’ve come to deliver this, just for you,” was what she said in her mind, as she placed a hand to the silk plum waistcoat covering his solid chest and leaned in. In actuality, she stammered like a fool and clenched her hands at her sides. “Wh—why on earth would you suspect me of having an ulterior motive?”
She had lost something after all. She’d lost her nerve. She’d had the perfect opportunity to completely surprise him with a kiss, and she hadn’t been able to manage it.
“Why do you do anything, my lady? Because you can. Forgive my impertinence.” He cleared his throat. “I’ve come to fetch a set of keys from Mr. Finch. I’ll leave you to your search.”
He stepped back, obviously deciding that whatever course he’d been taking with her was the wrong one to follow. Flirting? Could she conclude that he’d been flirting with her? And if so, what had she done to frighten him away? He turned on his heel.
Quick! She had to say something to bring him back. “Mr. Winthrop?”
“Yes?” He turned to face her again. She released the breath that she’d been holding.
“Do I really vex you?” She didn’t attempt to hide the concern in her voice.
He sighed. “No, Lady Alice. You do not. I’m sorry to have upset you.”
“Oh, I’m not upset.” She hazarded a step closer to him, and another one. “I was simply making sure before I tell you that I actually know a little about the care of citrus trees. Mother kept oranges in our conservatory back home. I might be of some assistance to you when they arrive, if you’ll allow me.”
He quirked a dark brow. “Oranges? Lady Averford didn’t mention it.”
Alice nibbled her lip. She knew very little about trees, citrus or otherwise. Certainly she would have time to read up on the subject and try to appear knowledgeable. “She wouldn’t. She didn’t notice. My sister is so often in her own world.”
“I see.” He stroked his jaw as if considering. “And how do you know about the fruit trees, seeing as the news only came at breakfast and I don’t recall you at the table when Lord Averford opened the letter in front of me?”
“You’ve got me there.” Alice blushed. “I was listening at the door. Eavesdropping, can you imagine? What a terrible habit. I didn’t mean to, of course. I was about to join my sister for breakfast and then I heard—”
“The mention of Lord Brumley?” He nodded, and his lips curved up in a smile. “The countess enjoys a bit of matchmaking. Before you came along, she tried to pair me with her maid.”
“Mrs. Jenks?” She wrinkled her nose at the idea. Jenks was a mousy slip of a woman, no match for a robust, vigorous man like Winthrop.
“No, the one before her. Mrs. Bowles.”
“Dear, no.” Worse than Jenks, Bowles was a snip-nosed shrew and certainly far too old for Mr. Winthrop. “I’m sorry. Sophia clearly has no talent for making matches.”
“Perhaps not. You were wise to run away instead of sitting through another conversation about yet another bachelor. I don’t blame you a bit.”
“You—you don’t?” Ah, a man of sense. She knew she could rely on his sound judgment, at least. And she appreciated it, though it would make seducing him more of a challenge.
“Any pretty girl in her right mind dreams of a dashing suitor to sweep her away, doesn’t she? Alas, Lady Averford’s only suitable choice for you so far had eyes for another.”
“Captain Thorne.” Alice rolled her eyes. “He’s better off with Eve Kendal. They’re perfectly suited. I didn’t care for him much myself, if you must know.”
“I mustn’t.” He shrugged. “It’s none of my affair.”
Alice bit the inside of her cheek. How she wanted it to be his affair. “There isn’t a suitable choice. I’ll never marry.”
“Don’t despair, Lady Alice. There’s someone out there for you. Your sister simply hasn’t found him yet.”
Order Sherri Browning's second book
in the Thornbrook Park series
An Affair Downstairs
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Acknowledgments
Thank you, my Sourcebooks team, for all that you do: Valerie Pierce, Jenna Quatraro, Sean Murray, William Preston, Heidi Weiland, Amelia Narigon, Rachel Gilmer, Susie Benton, Eliza Smith, Deb Werksman, and the ever-inspiring Dominique Raccah. You’re my heroes! Hilary Doda, thank you for sharing your insights. And a very special thanks to my best friend, Laura Sieben Jerry, for fueling my late-night writing sessions with coffee.
About the Author
Sherri Browning writes historical and contemporary romance fiction, sometimes with a paranormal twist. A graduate of Mount Holyoke College, Sherri has lived in western Massachusetts and greater Detroit, Michigan, but is now settled with her family in Simsbury, Connecticut. For more information, visit www.sherribrowningerwin.com.
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