Catherine Coulter the Sherbrooke Series Novels 6-10 (9781101562123)

by Coulter, Catherine

  Martha poked Petrie in the shoulder. “Here now, Mr. Petrie, don’t cry or I’ll tell Mr. Hollis meself—myself. Get yourself together—be a butler.”

  Jason hoped Petrie wouldn’t throw Martha onto the still-smoking stove.

  “Anise seed won’t help get us clean, I’m afraid,” Hallie said, wiping a hand across her face. “Don’t worry, Petrie, Martha is good with all sorts of stains. Angela, your face is a bit black.”

  “So is yours, dear. Do you know this lovely gown was once green?”

  Hallie grinned, shook her head. “Jason, I believe we were cheated by that lovely man who talked us into buying this modern marvel.”

  Angela said, “Perhaps it’s simply breaking itself in, getting itself used to our house.”

  Jason said, “I’ll have One-Armed Davie look at it once it’s cooled down. The wood is embers now; it won’t take long.”

  Angela said, “It amazes me what that man can do with only five fingers and his teeth. Cook, are you all right? You’re not hurt, are you?”

  Mrs. Millsom had forgotten her stinging hand. She stared, eyes fixed, at Jason, who was standing right in her kitchen, not three feet away. “Mr. Sherbrooke saved us,” she whispered.

  “Oh dear,” Angela said.

  “Well, actually not, Mrs. Millsom,” Hallie began, but Mrs. Millsom appeared not to have heard. She continued to stare at Jason, who continued to look splendidly male, hair windblown, white shirt open, leaving his brown neck bare, his britches lovely and tight, his boots dusty, and Hallie could only roll her eyes. “Actually, all he did was open the door.”

  “And the windows,” Mrs. Millsom said, still in a whisper.

  Jason stretched out his lovely brown hand and came to within a foot in front of her. “Cook? Mrs. Millsom? Are you all right? Ah, you’ve burned your hand.”

  Cook stared at him, shook her head as she held out her hand, which he gently held between his own. “It’s not bad. Angela, hand me some butter, we’ll cool it down. Petrie, fetch some bandages.” To his astonishment, Cook looked down at her hand held by both of his, and fell into him, almost knocking him down. He caught her even as Hallie grabbed his arm, pulling him upright.

  Angela called out, “Ah, Jason, be careful of the—”

  Jason went down on the large spoon covered with some sort of batter, pulling Hallie with him, Cook on top of him.

  “Oh dear,” Angela said.

  Jason felt flattened. As gently as he could, he rolled Cook onto her back even as Hallie came up onto her knees over him. Jason said, “Why did she swoon? Is she in pain?”

  Hallie could only laugh at his utter bewilderment. “Jason, you are such a moron. You touched her, that was all it took.”

  He patted Cook’s face even as he shook his head, and everyone began to laugh. Cook’s eyes fluttered. She stared up into the delicious young master’s concerned face. Concern for her. The breath whooshed out of her. “Oh, Mr. Sherbrooke, oh, sir, I only wanted to make you a lovely ginger cake.”

  “Ginger cake.” Angela fell against the kitchen table she was laughing so hard. As for Petrie, he found himself slapping Martha on her thin shoulder, telling her that her face was black as one particular All Hallow’s Eve he remembered as a boy.

  “I say,” came an astonished voice from the doorway, “there is no more tea in the pot.”

  Hallie looked at the elegant man she’d once believed she’d loved, once believed was as near a perfect man as her father. She said to the kitchen at large, “Heavenly groats, was I mad and blind, or simply stupid?”

  “Oh dear,” said Petrie, trying to wipe his face and clean off his linen all at the same time, “I should be hung perhaps, but not drawn and quartered. My lord, I pray you will forgive my unforgivable negligence in my duties. I will fetch you tea immediately, sir, well perhaps not exactly immediately, if you will see and comprehend this niggling obstacle that confronts me.”

  “Of course my good man.” Lord Renfrew gracefully inclined his head. “Good God, Hallie? Is that you on your knees? The only thing left white about you is your teeth. What are you doing in here? Surely—”

  “Sir,” Hallie said, not moving, “please take yourself off, or if you must, at least take yourself back to the drawing room.”

  Angela said, “She’s right, my lord. I would never forgive myself were you to get a single black speck on your beautiful pearl-gray tailcoat.”

  “It’s true that a gentleman should not take careless chances with his appearance,” said Lord Renfrew and backed quickly out of the kitchen.

  “I wish I could stick his head in the oven,” Hallie said, rubbing her arms, streaking the soot.

  Jason wrapped Mrs. Millsom’s hand in a soft washing cloth, assisted her to her feet and eased her ample self into a chair. “Martha will take care of you, Cook. Rest for a moment.”

  Mrs. Millsom looked ready to swoon again. Martha quickly stepped close, propping her up.

  Jason began backing out of the kitchen. “I will see to the dandy in the drawing room.”

  “Elgin a dandy?” Hallie said, a newly blackened brow arched. “Surely not.”

  Jason grew very still. “Did you say Elgin? Wasn’t he the fellow who brought back the marbles from Greece?”

  “Well, yes, but Elgin is Lord Renfrew’s first name.”

  To her surprise, Jason’s face turned grim as any reaper’s. “He’s the one, isn’t he, Hallie?”

  “Well, yes.”

  “What the hell does he want? Why the devil is he here?”

  “Stop tearing into me. I don’t know why he’s here.”

  “You didn’t invite him?”

  Hallie threw the spoon he’d tripped on.

  He caught it not six inches from his forehead. “You nearly nailed me with that spoon,” he said, and was gone from the kitchen.

  “Don’t kill him, Jason,” she called after him. “You wouldn’t like Australia.”

  Angela grabbed her arm before she could take one step.

  “Who is Lord Renfrew? Why is Jason angry?”

  “He was the bounder I was going to marry when I was eighteen.”

  “But dear, I don’t understand why the man is here—”

  Hallie was gone. She paused at the open doorway to the drawing room, and watched in bewilderment as Jason, who no longer looked like he wanted to hurl Lord Renfrew through one of the sparkling front windows into the newly planted primroses, was jovial and welcoming, shaking Elgin’s lovely strong-looking hand, the hand that had once skimmed over her breasts, something for which he’d apologized profusely. She hadn’t understood at the time, but now she did. She crossed her arms over her chest, leaned against the open door, and tapped her foot. What was Jason up to?

  “How very nice to finally meet you—did Hallie say your name was Eggbert?”

  “Elgin.”

  “A distinguished name.”

  “Yes, yes, it most certainly is.” Lord Renfrew wondered at Mr. Sherbrooke’s bonhomie. But then again, why not? Jason Sherbrooke was a second son, twin or not, and probably didn’t have much money, given how paltry this property was compared to his father’s vast estate. The man doubtless saw Lord Renfrew as the embodiment of what he wasn’t. Yes, that was it, and he wanted to lick his boots. Lord Renfrew would allow it.

  On the other hand, Mr. Sherbrooke was sharing the property with Hallie, and she was rich—his solicitor had confirmed that. Hmm, he didn’t like the sound of that. Sharing. Lord Renfrew cleared his throat. “It is an unusual situation you and Miss Carrick are in, Mr. Sherbrooke.”

  Jason gave him a white-toothed smile, a sort of man-to-man smile, if Lord Renfrew wasn’t mistaken, and no man was ever mistaken about that. “Not really,” Jason said. “Miss Carrick is, ah, a very accommodating girl, you know.”

  Hallie’s jaw fell two inches while Lord Renfrew’s jaw tightened.

  Jason, cheery as an octogenarian with a new bride of eighteen, said, “Won’t you sit down, my lord? Our servants aren’t at all well-trained
yet—really, such a small problem in the kitchen—but I imagine some more tea will be along shortly.”

  Small problem? They were all black as newly polished boots and Cook had swooned on him, knocked him over. That was small? Petrie not well-trained? He had been trained by Hollis himself. What was going on here?

  Lord Renfrew seated himself, made certain his coattails were smoothed neatly beneath him. “What do you mean, ‘accommodating’?”

  “Why Miss Carrick is always anxious to please, to do whatever one wishes her to do.”

  What did he mean, anxious to please? She could be bad-tempered in the morning. Maybe she was anxious to please when she wanted something badly, Hallie thought as she looked up to see Petrie carrying the lovely silver tray Jason’s mother had given them, his face still black as night. Oh dear. She ran to look in the mirror over the small table and nearly shrieked. She’d known what had to be in the mirror, but the fact of her black face—she raised her skirts to run to her bedchamber when she stopped cold. She smiled at Petrie. “We,” she said, patting his arm, “will make an entrance. Ah, do I look as toothsome as you do, Petrie?”

  “Surely you must consult the dictionary, Miss Hallie. We both look like critters escaped from the mud flats. There was no time for me to set myself to rights since one can’t leave a gentleman waiting for his tea. Oh dear, oh dear, your face, Miss Hallie, my face—This is disastrous. Whatever will the gentleman think?”

  “I, for one, can’t wait to find out.” She walked into the drawing room, her stride long as a boy’s, all possible because her full skirt was slit like very wide-cut trousers, giving Jason a smile scary enough to curl his toes. “I had Petrie bring the tea. Ah, does that please you, Jason?”

  CHAPTER 23

  Jason nearly fell over. A siren’s voice coming out of a filthy face. Lord Renfrew rose quickly to his feet, nearly en pointe. He said in a loud voice, “I am very pleased, my dear, very pleased indeed. I always believed you were delightfully accommodating.”

  “Did you really, my lord? How very gallant of you to say so. May I ask why?”

  Lord Renfrew gurgled deep in his throat.

  She preened, black face and all.

  So she’d heard that, had she? Jason walked to her, stopped not a half-foot from her nose and reached out his hand. He began twisting a long tangled hank of hair that fell nearly to her breast. He leaned closer, his warm breath on her cheek, lust in his eyes. “You smell like smoke.”

  She batted her eyelashes, but didn’t move, felt his fingers wrapping round and round her hair. She said, “Does it displease you, Jason, the smoke? I do so ever wish to please you.”

  “I will think about that.” He tugged her hair, then stepped back. “Please don’t sit down in that dirty dress, Hallie. Our furniture is new and it would be a shame to dirty it up so soon.”

  Lord Renfrew pulsed with questions, none of which he could ask in Hallie’s presence, dammit. He cleared his throat. She looked over at him. A witch, she looked like a witch. What if she wanted to touch him? Perhaps he should step back so she couldn’t easily reach him. “Perhaps, Miss Carrick—Hallie—you’d best go to your bedchamber and prepare yourself.”

  “Prepare myself for what exactly? Oh, you mean the way I do for Jason?”

  Jason shook his head, wagged his finger at her. “You baggage, where are your manners? You will shock poor Lord Renfrew. Who did you say you were, Lord Renfrew? A longtime friend of Miss Carrick’s? Perhaps a friend of her father’s? You don’t have a grandfather still living, do you, Hallie?”

  “No, my father’s father died many years ago, long before I was born. My father became Baron Sherard when he was only seventeen. Genny’s father died when I was only five.”

  Lord Renfrew said, “I came into my title two years ago. I am Viscount Renfrew, you know.”

  “I didn’t know,” Jason said, “but it has a nice ring to it.”

  “I would like my tea.”

  “Certainly,” Hallie said, pouring a cup and nearly spilling it in his lap when Lord Renfrew said to Jason, “I am a very close friend of Miss Carrick’s. Indeed, it would be more accurate to say that we were beyond close. I never met her father, although I would have met both her parents if things had progressed in the smooth way they were meant to progress.”

  Hallie said to Jason, “It’s hard to be smooth when one is picking flowers in another garden, don’t you think?”

  The air pulsed with hot silence, until Jason said, voice limp as a dead lily, “So you excel at growing flowers, my lord? Perhaps you will give us advice on what to do with our gardens. My mother planted the primroses beneath the front windows. Alas, neither Hallie nor I have much of an eye for blooms.”

  “I don’t either,” Lord Renfrew said, and added a fourth spoonful of sugar to his tea.

  “Then why would you be picking flowers? Oh, I see, you are a romantic, not a connoisseur.”

  Lord Renfrew stirred another spoonful of sugar into his tea. It was nearly painful to watch him drink it, but Jason nodded and continued to smile.

  “Look here,” Lord Renfrew said, waving his teacup, so full of sugar Hallie was surprised he could lift it, “none of this is to the point.”

  “What is the point?” Jason asked politely.

  “It is very strange to have a lady standing whilst the two of us are sitting.”

  “Possibly so,” Jason said. “However, unlike you, I am not slurping tea in a lady’s presence. I think Hallie must realize how thoughtful and polite I am, thus making her more accommodating.” He gave her a smile that would have made Mrs. Millsom swoon again.

  Lord Renfrew saw that smile, knew there was power in that damned smile, and it burned him to his feet. Bastard, damned toad of a second-son bastard. He’d always recognized that the Sherbrooke twins were considered very handsome men, but since he himself wasn’t an affliction to the female eye and had always been admired by both men and women—perhaps women a bit more than men, as he’d been told many times—he hadn’t begrudged them their additional dollop of physical beauty. He did now. He saw the clout of that beautiful face aimed at Hallie, and hated the man to his toes. He wanted to seduce her, he wanted her money. This wasn’t to be borne. “Miss Carrick, I am Lord Grimsby’s guest, Viscount Merlin Grimsby of Abbott Grange. I am here to ask you to attend a ball this Thursday evening, a ball in my honor, and you would be my special guest.”

  Jason leapt to his feet. “A ball? Did you say a ball? I haven’t been invited to a ball since my return to England. I would be delighted to attend, my lord. I shall bring Hallie with me. Do you have a suitable gown, Hallie?”

  “Will it be a costume ball, sir?”

  “No. It will be a regular sort of ball. Actually, Mr. Sherbrooke, I only—”

  “I believe I packed away a lovely medieval maiden’s gown in one of my trunks. A pity it isn’t a costume ball.”

  “I am certain the gown is lovely, Miss Carrick—Hallie—but it is, as I said, a regular sort of ball. Mr. Sherbrooke, about the ball, I can only invite—”

  “I know what you are thinking, my lord,” Jason said, “and you are right to be concerned that I have been out of civilized England for too long, that I have nothing fashionable to wear. I will ask my brother. He’s the viscount, you know, and he is always a well-dressed fellow. Sometimes he gives me his last-year britches, sometimes even his coats. Very few stains since his valet is such a superb fellow.

  “As for Hallie, I believe my brother’s wife could lend her something. Don’t worry, my lord, both of us, I fancy, will look quite dashing.”

  “Miss Carrick is rich; she has many gowns, all lovely. Besides, since she is rich, surely she wouldn’t lower herself to borrow anything from your blasted sister-in-law.”

  Hallie said, “I must say it’s ever so predictable you remembered the groats in my pockets, though I’m not surprised. I think a ball would be delightful. Thank you for inviting us. Jason, do you know Lord Grimsby?”

  “Oh yes, though I haven’t see
n him in a long time, since James and I were at Oxford and observed him with a delightful young lady who, I believe, was no relation to him at all.”

  “Now, see here, Mr. Sherbrooke. Lord Grimsby wasn’t all that old then.”

  Hallie said, “Isn’t Lord Grimsby married?”

  “I was being indelicate,” Jason said. “When James and I were quite small, Lord Grimsby let us ride his prize pigs, big pigs, you understand, so fat they could barely walk and thus weren’t hazardous to the health of two three-year-old boys.”

  “Your father let you ride pigs?”

  Jason nodded. “He said if we could stay on Ronnie and Donnie’s backs for three minutes without sliding off, we would be ready for our own ponies.”

  Lord Renfrew said, disdain radiating from his lovely tall self, “I have never ridden a pig in my life.”

  “Well, I haven’t since I was three-and-a-half and my father set me on my first pony. How about you, Hallie?”

  “I wish I had the memory of a fat pig from my childhood, but alas—you know that my father and I sailed everywhere when I was little and the deck rocked too much for livestock to roam about.” She turned to Lord Renfrew. “Perhaps you were too young to remember your pig-riding.”

  “Of course I would remember. I don’t.” He shut his mouth. He was in Bedlam. This was absurd, ridiculous. Both his host and hostess were smiling at him, ready to offer him more tea, ready to misunderstand what he said. He rose, bowed in Hallie’s direction, sighed, knew there was no hope for it. It was either both or none. “I will see you Thursday night. Mr. Sherbrooke, it’s been pleasurably irksome to meet you.”

  He bowed again and nearly ran from the drawing room. They heard Petrie’s rapid footsteps toward the front door. “Oh, my lord, do give me just a moment. The door is heavy, it must be opened just right. I am re-prepared, and at your endless service.”

  They didn’t hear a word from Lord Renfrew. The front door closed, a bit on the loud side. A moment later, Petrie appeared in the drawing room doorway. “How very odd, Master Jason, the gentleman didn’t take his hat or cane, and you can be sure I held them both out to him.”