you."
"Thirteen!"
"Fourteen. Smithers has a dreadful cold."
"That's true enough,” said Fred, from the corner where he laid out Lord Reyne's supper. “We can hear him sneezing like a grampus all through the downstairs.” He stood back and surveyed his handiwork. “Will that be all, my lord? Miss Sarah?"
"No, you can stay to valet me,” Alaric said.
"I ain't been trained for that work, my lord. I'll make a hash of it, sure to.” Fred backed toward the door.
"At least find me a bowl of hot water so I may shave. Once these spots turn to blisters, I shan't be able to use a razor. Please forgive me for speaking so frankly. Miss East."
"I don't mind.” Sarah wandered over to look at what Lord Reyne was to eat for his supper. She had not thought the thin gruel and dry toast looked very appetizing when she'd carried it to Mrs. Dealford, though that lady said it was the very thing she wanted. Mrs. Smithers’ attention was less on her cooking than on her husband's wants, as was natural, and the under-kitchen maid had prepared the meal.
Sarah glanced up inquiringly, feeling Lord Reyne's gaze upon her. When he did not speak, she prompted him with a “Yes, sir?"
Alaric could not help smiling at the girl, despite a headache like a lowering cloud. “Will you ever get over this habit of being alone in men's bedrooms?"
"But it wasn't Lord Dudley's room!” Sarah blushed. “Excuse me. I'll just see about finding you some beefsteak—if you want it, that is."
"Beefsteak? Miss East, I am in your debt unto half my worldly goods. I may be ill, but I'd rather not starve to death. Call it an invalid's whim."
Sarah cast one more look at him as she hesitated in the doorway. In the light thrown by the shaded candles beside his bed, she could not see any dots on his face, only the disorder of his fair hair and the strong neck revealed by the open throat of his nightshirt. “I can find you something. It may be cold."
"As long as it is food for a man, not for a Bath widow. Sarah?” he said, calling her back.
"Sir?"
"Why are you doing this work?"
"I beg ... oh, my mother and I came to help Lady Phelps. There isn't anyone else, what with so many of you."
"You've had this revolting disease, then, I take it?"
"When I was a baby."
"Gad, the things one leaves undone through absence of mind. I kept meaning to have it, you know. Well, if you are immune, will you sit with me while I eat? I promise not to alarm you by dining in my shirt. I shall at least wear breeches, if that fellow can be prevailed upon to hand them to me."
She laughed happily. It had just come to her that he'd called her by her name. She all but sang as she went down the stairs. When she reached the kitchen, the tune came bubbling up.
"You're cheerful,” Harvey said.
"Yes, I am. Where's Annie?"
"Gone to bed with the same thing Smithers got."
"Oh, no! Not another one. Who's to cook?"
"Your mother said she'll do breakfast. Mother will make dinner tomorrow night. I'm to create some sort of luncheon."
"You, Harvey? Perhaps I should."
The young heir quirked his lips in his attractive, lopsided smile. “No, no. I shall enjoy it, I think. Father's livid about it, of course. But I always rather fancied my chances in the kitchen. Some very notable gentlemen have special dishes they prepare themselves. I mean to say, punches and such. Why not meals? With Mother's help, naturally."
Sarah could only shake her head in surprised admiration. “Do you think you could find a beefsteak for Lord Reyne? He's frightfully hungry."
"I ... I suppose I might be able to. There may be some of sliced roast beef from the picnic. I know there must be, as we hardly had the chance to sink a tooth in it. I wonder where they would keep it?"
Through the swinging door came Emma Dealford. “Mr. Phelps, I think—” Seeing Sarah, Emma said, “Ah, Miss East. Is Mother looking for me?"
"No, I don't think she is.” Sarah saw Harvey's face when Miss Dealford spoke. The expression passed
"Thirteen!"
"Fourteen. Smithers has a dreadful cold."
"That's true enough,” said Fred, from the corner where he laid out Lord Reyne's supper. “We can hear him sneezing like a grampus all through the downstairs.” He stood back and surveyed his handiwork. “Will that be all, my lord? Miss Sarah?"
"No, you can stay to valet me,” Alaric said.
"I ain't been trained for that work, my lord. I'll make a hash of it, sure to.” Fred backed toward the door.
"At least find me a bowl of hot water so I may shave. Once these spots turn to blisters, I shan't be able to use a razor. Please forgive me for speaking so frankly. Miss East."
"I don't mind.” Sarah wandered over to look at what Lord Reyne was to eat for his supper. She had not thought the thin gruel and dry toast looked very appetizing when she'd carried it to Mrs. Dealford, though that lady said it was the very thing she wanted. Mrs. Smithers’ attention was less on her cooking than on her husband's wants, as was natural, and the under-kitchen maid had prepared the meal.
Sarah glanced up inquiringly, feeling Lord Reyne's gaze upon her. When he did not speak, she prompted him with a “Yes, sir?"
Alaric could not help smiling at the girl, despite a headache like a lowering cloud. “Will you ever get over this habit of being alone in men's bedrooms?"
"But it wasn't Lord Dudley's room!” Sarah blushed. “Excuse me. I'll just see about finding you some beefsteak—if you want it, that is."
"Beefsteak? Miss East, I am in your debt unto half my worldly goods. I may be ill, but I'd rather not starve to death. Call it an invalid's whim."
Sarah cast one more look at him as she hesitated in the doorway. In the light thrown by the shaded candles beside his bed, she could not see any dots on his face, only the disorder of his fair hair and the strong neck revealed by the open throat of his nightshirt. “I can find you something. It may be cold."
"As long as it is food for a man, not for a Bath widow. Sarah?” he said, calling her back.
"Sir?"
"Why are you doing this work?"
"I beg ... oh, my mother and I came to help Lady Phelps. There isn't anyone else, what with so many of you."
"You've had this revolting disease, then, I take it?"
"When I was a baby."
"Gad, the things one leaves undone through absence of mind. I kept meaning to have it, you know. Well, if you are immune, will you sit with me while I eat? I promise not to alarm you by dining in my shirt. I shall at least wear breeches, if that fellow can be prevailed upon to hand them to me."
She laughed happily. It had just come to her that he'd called her by her name. She all but sang as she went down the stairs. When she reached the kitchen, the tune came bubbling up.
"You're cheerful,” Harvey said.
"Yes, I am. Where's Annie?"
"Gone to bed with the same thing Smithers got."
"Oh, no! Not another one. Who's to cook?"
"Your mother said she'll do breakfast. Mother will make dinner tomorrow night. I'm to create some sort of luncheon."
"You, Harvey? Perhaps I should."
The young heir quirked his lips in his attractive, lopsided smile. “No, no. I shall enjoy it, I think. Father's livid about it, of course. But I always rather fancied my chances in the kitchen. Some very notable gentlemen have special dishes they prepare themselves. I mean to say, punches and such. Why not meals? With Mother's help, naturally."
Sarah could only shake her head in surprised admiration. “Do you think you could find a beefsteak for Lord Reyne? He's frightfully hungry."
"I ... I suppose I might be able to. There may be some of sliced roast beef from the picnic. I know there must be, as we hardly had the chance to sink a tooth in it. I wonder where they would keep it?"
Through the swinging door came Emma Dealford. “Mr. Phelps, I think—” Seeing Sarah, Emma said, “Ah, Miss East. Is Mother looking for me?"
"No, I don't think she is.” Sarah saw Harvey's face when Miss Dealford spoke. The expression passed
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