Any moment, he’d toss up her skirts and take her over the kitchen table. But it wouldn’t do for the servants to encounter their master rutting in the kitchen. He didn’t give a damn about his reputation—but he did care about hers.
With a sigh, he wiped the flour from her forehead and returned to the other side of the table, and continued working on the dough.
Disappointment shone in her eyes, and she lowered her gaze and resumed her kneading.
“How did you acquire such skills?” she asked. “In making bread?”
“When I was a child, my best friend—John Farrow—taught me how to make bread at his father’s bakery.”
“I didn’t expect…” she hesitated.
“You didn’t expect me to exhibit prowess in a kitchen?” he asked. “I grew up in poverty, Margaret, in the village surrounding the Alderley estate. Our backgrounds are the same.”
“Except, I’m a bastard.”
Irritated, he reached over and took her hand. “Margaret, how many times must I tell you not to take such words upon yourself? Your origins are of no consequence.” He gestured about the kitchen. “You’re the mistress of this house and of the estate which surrounds it. That makes you a person of consequence. And you must behave as such, no matter how much you miss your life before you came here. We can never go back. We can only look forward.”
She wiped her hands on her apron and sighed. “I can’t help it if I miss my former life,” she said. “I never wanted to be mistress of a big house.” She lowered her gaze. “I didn’t want to marry.”
He took her hand. “I know,” he said. “I never wanted to marry a…” he hesitated. “I mean…you were just as reluctant as I.”
A tear splashed onto her cheek, and he cursed himself.
He’d meant to give comfort, but, instead, had only reminded her that he’d wanted to marry another—the woman arriving tomorrow, who would be their guest for the next seven nights.
Chapter Twenty
“The carriage is here, ma’am.”
Meggie set aside her mending. “Thank you, Sarah,” she said. “I’ll be down directly. I wish to fetch my shawl first—it’s turned rather cold.”
“You must come now,” the maid replied. “The master said he wasn’t to be kept waiting.”
“Very well.”
Better to weather the cold than her husband’s disappointment. Since the tender moment they’d shared in the kitchen, he had returned to his cold, detached self, spending his time with the steward.
Though she longed to defy him, she did not have the strength to deal with both him and her father.
Not to mention the Honorable Elizabeth.
She only needed to survive the next seven days, then she could wave the guests goodbye.
And, most likely, her husband, when he returned to London and forgot about her.
Sarah joined the line of servants waiting to greet their guests. Meggie’s husband stood by the door. He motioned for her to stand beside him.
What was she—a gun dog?
“It’s about time,” he said. “They’re almost here.”
Halfway down the drive, a coach-and-four approached, laden with trunks and steered by a single driver who cracked his whip to urge the horses on. Two liveried footmen stood at the back of the coach, clinging on as it swayed to and fro, and a thin, young woman sat beside them, clutching onto one of the trunks.
It was the same carriage Meggie had been forced into when Alderley had ripped her from her old life.
The carriage drew to a halt, and one of the footmen rushed to the door, opened it, then retreated with a deep bow.
A man emerged from inside, dressed in a dark red jacket with cream-colored breeches and polished black boots. He puffed out his chest, then turned and held out his hand.
A woman stepped out of the carriage, and Meggie’s stomach churned.
Elizabeth was even more beautiful than she remembered. Golden curls were piled on her head in an extravagant fashion, most likely administered by the slim young woman sitting atop the trunk. Her fur-trimmed cloak was fashioned from dark purple velvet. Beneath it, she wore a bright blue dress and embroidered slippers.
Meggie’s husband drew in a sharp breath, then he glanced at Meggie and muttered a curse.
Did he have to make his desire for Elizabeth so obvious?
He bowed to Meggie’s father.
“Lord Alderley, a pleasure to welcome you to my home.”
Alderley nodded. “Hart.”
“And the Honorable Elizabeth,” her husband continued. “I am…” he glanced at Meggie, “…that is, my wife and I are delighted you could come.”
Elizabeth held out her hand, and he lifted it to his lips.
“I wouldn’t miss this for the world, Dexter,” she said. “It’s a pleasant surprise to see you looking so well.” She lifted her brows, cocked her head to one side, and waited.
“And you’re looking as beautiful as ever, Miss Alderley.”
“Come, come, Dexter, darling,” she chided. “Must you address me so formally, when we’re such very old friends?”
She threw a spiteful glance at Meggie.
“And my dear sister!” she cried, “oh, forgive me, I should say half-sister. Marion, isn’t it? Or Margaret?” She wrinkled her nose. “Yes, Margaret! So difficult to remember. But then, when one’s origins are so—complex—a lady can be forgiven for her confusion, can she not?”
“My dear,” Meggie’s husband prompted, “aren’t you going to greet our guests?”
“Perhaps she doesn’t know how,” Elizabeth said, her smile broadening. Meggie dipped into a curtsey, lost her balance, and fell against her husband. He took her arm in a firm grip, and she lowered her head, her cheeks burning.
Elizabeth let out a laugh. “Dexter, perhaps you should lead us inside before your wife is further discomposed…” she nodded toward him, expectantly. “If you’d be so obliging?”
He released Meggie and held his arm out to Elizabeth, who took it as if it belonged to her.
“I hope you’ll show me the sights, Dexter, darling,” Elizabeth said. “Both inside and outside.”
“I’d be happy to oblige,” he replied. “But first, let us take tea in the parlor. I have it on good authority my cook makes the best fruit cake.”
“Fruit cake?” Elizabeth cried with an excess of enthusiasm. “Dexter, you spoil me, for that’s my favorite, as well, you know. Come, take me inside immediately.”
He led the way, leaving Meggie standing alone.
No, not alone. The imposing form of Lord Alderley towered over her.
She curtseyed again, this time maintaining her balance.
“Father.”
He rolled his eyes and gestured toward the door with his cane.
“Lead the way, child,” he said. “What are you waiting for?”
Meggie followed her husband and Elizabeth inside. Never had she felt so out of place—a base-born peasant among three members of society.
How was she going to survive tea with them, let alone a whole week?
***
Meggie poured the tea and handed a cup to Elizabeth, who frowned, then took it.