Lyons Gate

CHAPTER 22

“I, sir, am here to visit Miss Carrick. I believe she just ran back to the kitchen, some sort of female disaster.”

Female disaster? Jason stared long and hard at the elegant vision standing at languid ease in front of him, thinking that he didn’t particularly care for the latest gentlemen’s style. The waist looked too nipped in, the tails too long, altogether unpractical, at least if one were mucking out stalls.

Jason heard a shriek. When he ran into the kitchen, it was to see Cook, Petrie, Martha, Angela, and Hallie bent over coughing, covered with the settling smoke still billowing up from the new Macklin stove. Since he and Hallie had been assured that this modern wonder would be in use until the turn of the century, Jason didn’t believe this to be a propitious beginning. He saw that there was no fire, only smoke. He opened the kitchen door and the three windows and waved.

“Is everyone all right?”

Black tears streaked down Petrie’s face. He was wringing his filthy hands. “Oh, Master Jason, look at what that smoking monster has done to my linen, all spotless only three hours ago, and now look.”

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?”