* * *
Adrian was playing with fire. A fire that burned so sweetly, he would enjoy every minute as it burned his world down around him. Adrian lingered in the corridor for a long moment as he fixed his neckcloth and desperately searched for the vanishing threads of his sanity.
Lady Venetia wanted him to teach her about men, about desire and attraction. He wasn’t sure that such things could be taught. He’d heard braggarts in town boast of their dubious conquests, and he’d seen the quietest of men manage to win the affections of unattainable women. There were no set laws in the ancient art of courtship, yet he had foolishly agreed to educate her about it.
This would certainly get him tossed out of Hartland. The question was, how long would it be before he was discovered? He made barely thirty pounds a year, and it was not likely he would find such a position again. He would be forced into learning a new trade, assuming anyone would take him in. Life in service had prepared him only for other positions in service. He knew nothing of blacksmithing or mining. He could ride quite well, but he had no groom’s experience that would make him indispensable to a new household. By agreeing to Lady Venetia’s bargain, he was condemning himself.
Adrian managed to slip down to his room in the basement without being bothered by anyone. He sat down on his cot and buried his face in his hands. Ten years—for ten years this had been his home, the closest he’d come to a family after his mother had died. Adrian let out a heavy sigh. A sampler hung on the wall, words of wisdom sewn into the fabric with delicate precision: “Humility is a servant’s true dignity.”
He had plenty of humility. Losing his mother, then reaching out to his father only to be cast aside without so much as an audience. His mother had been certain Lord Stratford would agree to see him. It was a blessing she had not lived to know otherwise.
Yes, Adrian had plenty of humility and even more humiliation. But when he’d kissed Lady Venetia, there had been a brief moment where he had not felt like himself. No, that wasn’t right. He’d felt more like himself than he had since he’d come to Hartland. He hadn’t been an invisible servant, nor had he been a peacock to be put on display for his attractiveness. He’d simply been a man kissing a woman with passion and longing.
No doubt he was but a plaything to her, a toy to entertain and amuse. Then again, he had seen such sweet innocence in her eyes, as though he had kissed a princess awakened from a century-long slumber, rather than a scheming woman who wished to amuse herself with him. What was the truth? The princess or the clever creature who saw him as a toy? He had fended off advances from beautiful women who had stayed under this roof before. Turning them down had been easy. But Lady Venetia? She was different. And dangerous.
The dinner bell rang outside. He stood and hastily fixed his jacket and hair before he joined the others for their late midday meal. By the time he reached the servants’ table, Mr. Reeves was already presiding at one end and the young housekeeper, Mrs. Miller, at the other.
Adrian slipped into his seat, head down, and Mr. Reeves recited a brief grace. After that, everyone sat in their assigned seats. Mrs. Webster passed plates full of shepherd’s pie around the table.
“The guests have all arrived,” Mr. Reeves began. “The maids and valets will be dining with us after the guests have eaten their supper this evening.” Mr. Reeves spoke more about the fine lords and ladies who had arrived, but Adrian wasn’t listening. He lifted his head only once while eating, and he saw Phillip watching him curiously.
When the meal was over, Adrian joined Benjamin to carry up trays of afternoon tea to the ladies, but Phillip caught up with him. Adrian nodded at Benjamin to go on ahead while he and Phillip hung back.
“Mr. Reeves said you have special duties this week. Is everything all right?” the valet asked.
“Yes, but I can’t speak about it.”
“It has to do with Lady Venetia, doesn’t it?”
“Yes.”
Phillip chuckled. “Well now, you’ve pleased the lady, then, by rescuing her. Well done, old boy!”
“Don’t congratulate me. I may be in trouble still,” Adrian replied before he followed Benjamin up to the green drawing room.
The ladies were all seated about the fire, whispering and laughing as Adrian and Benjamin set down the tea trays. The duchess preferred the footmen to serve the tea while she was engaged in conversation with her guests. Benjamin and Adrian moved efficiently through the room before they retreated into the hall to be silent sentries. Lady Devon was farther away from them, but a few of the other ladies were closer to their position. It was hard not to overhear some of what they said.
“She always has the most attractive men, don’t you agree?” one woman asked another. Their gazes turned to Adrian and Benjamin, who stood in view from the doorway.
“She certainly does. If my husband weren’t here . . . ,” one mused, and her companion giggled.
Adrian clenched his jaw, and Benjamin shifted slightly on his feet. There was nothing more humiliating than being talked about as a commodity to be owned and coveted. He tried to ignore the ladies’ conversation until Lady Venetia’s name pulled him out of his thoughts.
“I hear Lady Latham’s granddaughter is here,” said the first woman. “Yes, the heiress. It’s rumored she may finally be husband hunting, but the poor thing has twisted her ankle. Pity, that. My brother is here, you know, and I hope to set him in her path. He is in need of a wife with deep pockets.”
“Oh? What if he brought her some flowers or some other token of interest? I daresay she would see it as very romantic, and he would have a chance to catch her attention without the other gentlemen around.”
“That is an excellent idea. I shall tell Peregrine that. I’m sure that Lady Devon would part with some roses—she has so many in the hothouse.”
An idea came to Adrian at the lady’s suggestion. It filled him with a silly hope that he could do something to please Lady Venetia the way a proper gentleman would. He knew he shouldn’t leave his post, but if he was smart about it, he could leave Benjamin in charge for a short while.
Adrian glanced at Benjamin. “I need to see to Lady Venetia. You have it handled here?”
Benjamin nodded. “Go on, I’ll be fine.”
“Thank you.” Adrian slipped out of the corridor, emboldened with an idea. He wanted to bring Lady Venetia flowers, but real ones, not ones grown in the hothouse. He had an hour before he needed to return to her, so he went into the gardens and took his time speaking with the gardener, Mr. Paisley, who helped him cut several of the finest rose blooms and dozens of wildflowers. Adrian brought the bouquet inside the servants’ hall and headed to the housekeeper’s parlor.
Mrs. Miller was reviewing account books as he entered. The housekeeper, formerly Lady Devon’s maid, had taken over after the previous housekeeper had departed. She was close to his own age. She was smart and capable as well.
“Are those for me?” Mrs. Miller teased when she saw the bouquet.
“I . . . No, but I was hoping to enlist your help. Would you happen to have a bit of ribbon or fabric to bind the stems together?” Adrian inquired.
“I might.” She rose from her desk and went to a chest of drawers, pulling the top one open. It was full of odds and ends, with plenty of ribbon. She selected one that was a deep red, which matched the fattest rose blooms, and bound the bouquet up for him. Adrian felt wildly boyish with excitement.
“Let me guess. These are for Lady Venetia?” Mrs. Miller asked.
“Yes. I suppose everyone belowstairs must know of my temporary assignment by now.”
Mrs. Miller laughed. “Nothing stays a secret long belowstairs.”
“Thank you for the ribbon. You shall be remembered in song and story through the ages.” He smiled at the young housekeeper, and she shoved him out of her office with a laugh.
Adrian returned to Lady Venetia’s room, his heart filled with a strange, fluttering excitement. He halted at her door, which was partially open, and heard a m
an’s voice from within.
“. . . heard that you were poorly, Lady Venetia. I brought a gift for you.”
“Oh my. These are very lovely flowers, Mr. Sherman. I shall send my maid out for a vase in a moment.”
“You are most welcome, Lady Venetia. I thought you might be missing the gardens while you are confined up here.”
“I am indeed.”
“I also thought you might enjoy this.” Mr. Sherman offered Lady Venetia a small velvet box. She opened it, and her eyes widened at whatever lay inside before she lifted her gaze to the gentleman.
“Oh, it is too precious,” Lady Venetia gasped. “I cannot . . .”
“Please, I insist. It is a gift for you since you have brightened this party for me immensely.”
Whatever Mr. Sherman had brought her must be exquisite and expensive—far above anything Adrian could ever give her.
Adrian’s heart sank. The flowers slipped from his fingers to the floor. He turned away and retreated back to the domain he’d been born into. The place where he would always belong.
I was a fool to think . . . A fool to dream.
* * *
Venetia did her best to have an interesting conversation with Mr. Sherman, one of the gentlemen attending the house party. The bouquet of flowers from Lady Devon’s hothouse now sat in a vase on the table between them.
“Dreadful thing to turn one’s ankle,” Mr. Sherman said. “Done it myself as a lad.” His eyes, a warm brown, were friendly enough, and his face was kind. He was one and thirty, with a decent estate attached to his name. He was polite, kind, seemed to value her thoughts and opinions, and was very attractive. Mr. Sherman was a man worth marrying, but the fire she’d experienced with Adrian simply wasn’t there.
“If you feel up to it, I would like to sit with you in the gardens or on the back terrace later,” Mr. Sherman said hopefully.
“Thank you. I would enjoy that.”
“Well, I should leave you to rest.” He bashfully smiled as he rose from his chair and took his leave. Phoebe sat in a corner, tending to a tear in Venetia’s blue gown.
“He seems nice, my lady.”
“He is, isn’t he?” She held back how she truly felt, however. “Phoebe, could you have Adrian bring up some tea?”
“Of course.” Phoebe set the sewing aside and left, only to halt outside the door and bend down. She picked up something that lay by the door.
“My lady?” Phoebe said uncertainly as she carried in the most exquisite bouquet of flowers Venetia had ever seen. It put Mr. Sherman’s carefully raised hothouse flowers to shame.
“Oh my. Where did these come from?” She held out her hands, and Phoebe placed the bouquet in her arms. Venetia buried her face in the blooms. Red roses were tucked in the bouquet, along with dozens of stunning wildflowers. Pale-yellow primroses blended with bluebells, marigolds, scarlet pimpernels, and the brightly colored stems of pink lady’s-gloves. Their floral scent still held a touch of storms about them. These had come from the gardens in the field. A red satin ribbon was carefully tied around the stems, holding them together.
“They were on the floor, as if someone dropped them.” Phoebe stared at the flowers, a curious expression on her face.
“Could you find another vase for these?” Venetia asked. She felt a strange pull toward the wild blooms, as though if she let go of them she would lose something precious to her. She could not express this feeling in words, so until a vase could be found, she would hold on to them.
“I shall run down to the kitchens and have the footman bring your tea while I find another vase.”
“Thank you, Phoebe.” Venetia rose from her chair and winced as she hobbled over to the table and moved Mr. Sherman’s vase to the windowsill. She’d insisted that Mr. Sherman not give her the necklace that he’d brought. It was far too precious an item for her when she barely knew him. It was more suited for the announcement of an engagement, which neither of them had discussed. He’d wanted her to keep the jewelry, but she’d told him that the flowers were far more to her taste in gifts, and thankfully he hadn’t seemed upset by it. Mr. Sherman was quite a kind man. If only she felt about him the way she felt about Adrian, her future would be so clear.
Venetia sat back down in her chair, her hands still wrapped around the blooms. She breathed in the scent again and smiled as they made her think of Adrian. She had many more questions to ask him about men now that she’d had a chance to compare him to Mr. Sherman. Such as why he made her feel wild, lost, and breathless with excitement when Mr. Sherman did not. That was a most important question indeed.
6
“She’s asking for you,” Phoebe announced as she entered the servants’ dining room.
Adrian glanced up from polishing a silver teapot. “I must finish this first,” he replied quietly. He didn’t want to go up there and see her being courted by that gentleman. Nor did he want to see the flowers he’d spent so long picking and then foolishly abandoned on the floor like a sulking child. His actions made him feel like a coward, but he couldn’t go back up there and see her beaming from another man’s attentions, not when he’d held such a foolish hope that she might . . . Adrian banished the thought.
Phoebe stood in front of him, her stern expression softening. “She prefers yours.”
“Pardon?” Adrian focused back on the teapot, rubbing over-vigorously on a stubborn spot of tarnish.
“Your flowers. The ones I found outside my mistress’s room. I didn’t tell her they were yours, but she took to them right away, more so than Mr. Sherman’s.”
Adrian stilled. “She liked them?”
“She did, buried her face right in them and smiled. She sent me to fetch you for tea while I find another vase.”
Adrian’s smile faded a bit. “I need to finish this or Mr. Reeves will have my head.”
“Take it upstairs and work on it. Lady Venetia won’t mind.”
“Won’t mind watching a man earn his living?” Adrian grumbled. He was not normally a man to indulge in self-pity, but he couldn’t seem to stomach the thought of Venetia seeing him perform the common duties of a footman.
Phoebe crossed her arms in a severe fashion. “My lady fancies you, and I would hate to see her disappointed.”
Adrian pushed his chair back and sighed. “Very well. I will be up shortly with her tea.”
“Good.” The lady’s maid left the servants’ hall, and Adrian caught Benjamin’s arm as he passed by.
“If you see Mr. Reeves, tell him I’ve been requested to see to Lady Venetia, and I have taken the teapot with me.
“I will let him know,” Benjamin promised.
Adrian prepared a tea tray, collected his pot and polishing cloth, and made the climb up to Lady Venetia’s bedchamber. He hesitated before knocking, and then he pushed the door open when she called for him to enter. She was seated by the fire, wearing a lovely day gown of a soft lilac with a dark-purple sash around her waist. Her face was less pale, and her brown eyes glowed with delight as he came inside. His flowers were resting in a vase beside her on the table, the other flowers now tucked away on the windowsill.
She beamed at him. “I’m glad you’re back, Adrian. I’ve created a list of questions for you to answer.” She glanced around and then leaned toward him as he drew near. “And I’ve sent Phoebe on a few errands, so we shan’t be disturbed.”
“Oh dear. Now you have me worried,” Adrian said with a chuckle. “Dare I listen to these questions?”
“You must. Now sit,” she commanded, though her tone was teasing rather than imperious. He sat down across from her in a companion chair.
“Very well, ask your questions.”
“I wish to know more about what men desire in a woman. Do you worry about looks or her mind more? My father always warned me that most men prefer looks, but I believe he was rather biased in trying to keep me from wanting to marry. Would you say it depends on the man?”
“Well, you’ve jumped right into the thick of it, haven�
��t you?” He laughed but then turned serious. “It definitely depends on the man. A good man wants a woman to have a strong mind and a brave heart. Beauty shines from within, and the brighter that inner shine, the greater the outer shine becomes. A pretty face fades. As men and women grow older together, it’s what’s inside that matters.”
“I agree,” Lady Venetia replied. She twined her fingers in her skirts, then reached for the bouquet of flowers he’d brought. Her fingers brushed over the blooms of a few bluebells. He sucked in a breath when he noticed how lovingly she was gazing upon the flowers he’d chosen for her.
“Adrian, did you . . . ? Are these yours?”
He hadn’t expected this change of subject.
“Er . . . Yes. I picked those for you.” His voice was a little rough, so he cleared his throat.
“Why didn’t you bring them to me? Phoebe found them on the floor in the corridor.”
Adrian looked away. “I saw Mr. Sherman here, paying court to you, and his flowers were . . .” He paused, searching for the right words. “Mine seemed inadequate.”
“Mr. Sherman’s flowers are delicate selections from Lady Devon’s hothouse, and I doubt he chose them himself. They are lovely, but these . . .” She smiled at his bouquet. “These are flowers that lived out in the wide world, beautiful and bold, wild and free, even the garden roses. They have earned their place in the world. They are not pampered plants who have water and soil given to them at their leisure.”
Adrian was silent. Her words moved him deeply, and she fell quiet too for a long moment.
“Mr. Sherman’s flowers are a kind gesture. Yours, however, are a statement. Thank you. They brightened my dreary day.”
Her words sent a flutter of hope through him again, but he knew better than to embrace it. Still . . . she had surprised him with her view on the flowers.
Tempting the Footman: The House of Devon Book 5 Page 6