under his breath.
The words ‘Baron Numpty’ escaped Kathleen’s lips.
Still Edward said nothing and sat as stiff as one of the headstones in his family cemetery, only leaning forward when the programme moved onto Applebridge Hall. Oh my God! That was me, getting out of the car when I arrived. Or was it? I hardly recognized myself. Without my chicken fillets and tarantula lashes I looked kind of older. And yes, even I could see the resemblance to my flatmate. Plus, hallelujah! My bum wasn’t half as big as I expected – my brothers must have lied about that all these years.
The footage moved to the orchard. Oh, no. I hadn’t warned Edward that… My cousin smacked his hand down on his knee.
‘I instructed Gaynor to edit that out,’ he said as the camera zoomed in on me, supposedly convulsing on the soil.
‘That’s my fault,’ I said and cleared my throat. ‘Gaynor and I decided it would be best to leave this shot in, after all.’
His lip curled. ‘What about self-respect and dignity? I told you that scene wouldn’t work.’
‘And I told you that, during my stay, I should have a part in the decision-making,’ I said quietly.
‘Splendid decision,’ he sneered. ‘You sprawled amongst tree roots, legs akimbo, is a real credit to the family.’
A lump rose in my throat. He was right. But high viewing figures were everything. At least I recognized that.
‘The pace of the show has sped up, though,’ said Nick and jerked his head towards the screen. It showed Edward sweep me up into his muscular arms. How easily he carried me into the house. I smiled at Nick, appreciative of the support.
‘If I may be so bold, My Lord,’ Nick went on, ‘like it or not, refined cookery lessons won’t compete with girls in skimpy outfits dancing on tables among joints of meat.’
‘I’d keep your opinions to yourself then, if they are that negative,’ said Edward in a measured voice. ‘The Croxleys will not throw away their principles. Not for anything.’
‘Our ancestors must be turning in their graves,’ said the Earl’s gruff voice.
Crap. If they were that put out by my collapse, then how would they react to my hug with Nick in the kitchen? My mouth went dry as the show moved onto yesterday’s dinner with the Hamilton-Browns. I busied myself by handing around the last of the biscuits.
‘Och, will you look at my hair,’ said Kathleen, gazing at the telly.
Um, I don’t think so – I was too wrapped up in studying my terrible table manners. I’d started my bread before everyone else and – oh my God – I wiped my nose with the back of my hand. Good thing my mobile was off. Any horrified texts from Lady C could wait for a couple of days. Suddenly Nick and Jean guffawed at the flying onion. My hands felt sweaty as the next shot was in the kitchen.
There sat Kathleen, at the pine table, talking with Mr Thompson – I gazed at the background of the shot. You could just make out Nick, sliding his arms around my waist. Or could you? His dark hair kind of merged in with the shadows and the short-sighted viewers might possibly mistake his arms for a really thick belt. As for me, the background light was so bad, you couldn’t make out my face. Heart racing, I watched the gardener nuzzle my neck. I hardly dared glance at Edward.
Which was bonkers. I was only here for two weeks. Why did I care about his opinion of me? My throat hurt because I knew the answer—like it or not, Gemma Goodwin, you’re starting to care about the Croxleys and their house.
Urgh. Edward had clearly spotted me, his noble cousin, on screen, getting intimate with a servant, because his cheeks flushed maroon and he jumped up, practically tossing his cup onto the tray as the credits rolled. While the rest of us stared at him, jaws open, he picked up the laptop and stormed out of the Parlour, slamming the door shut on his way.
LORD EDWARD’S E-DIARY
Sunday 2 nd September
‘Comments’
9.10p.m. I’ve just flipped open my
The words ‘Baron Numpty’ escaped Kathleen’s lips.
Still Edward said nothing and sat as stiff as one of the headstones in his family cemetery, only leaning forward when the programme moved onto Applebridge Hall. Oh my God! That was me, getting out of the car when I arrived. Or was it? I hardly recognized myself. Without my chicken fillets and tarantula lashes I looked kind of older. And yes, even I could see the resemblance to my flatmate. Plus, hallelujah! My bum wasn’t half as big as I expected – my brothers must have lied about that all these years.
The footage moved to the orchard. Oh, no. I hadn’t warned Edward that… My cousin smacked his hand down on his knee.
‘I instructed Gaynor to edit that out,’ he said as the camera zoomed in on me, supposedly convulsing on the soil.
‘That’s my fault,’ I said and cleared my throat. ‘Gaynor and I decided it would be best to leave this shot in, after all.’
His lip curled. ‘What about self-respect and dignity? I told you that scene wouldn’t work.’
‘And I told you that, during my stay, I should have a part in the decision-making,’ I said quietly.
‘Splendid decision,’ he sneered. ‘You sprawled amongst tree roots, legs akimbo, is a real credit to the family.’
A lump rose in my throat. He was right. But high viewing figures were everything. At least I recognized that.
‘The pace of the show has sped up, though,’ said Nick and jerked his head towards the screen. It showed Edward sweep me up into his muscular arms. How easily he carried me into the house. I smiled at Nick, appreciative of the support.
‘If I may be so bold, My Lord,’ Nick went on, ‘like it or not, refined cookery lessons won’t compete with girls in skimpy outfits dancing on tables among joints of meat.’
‘I’d keep your opinions to yourself then, if they are that negative,’ said Edward in a measured voice. ‘The Croxleys will not throw away their principles. Not for anything.’
‘Our ancestors must be turning in their graves,’ said the Earl’s gruff voice.
Crap. If they were that put out by my collapse, then how would they react to my hug with Nick in the kitchen? My mouth went dry as the show moved onto yesterday’s dinner with the Hamilton-Browns. I busied myself by handing around the last of the biscuits.
‘Och, will you look at my hair,’ said Kathleen, gazing at the telly.
Um, I don’t think so – I was too wrapped up in studying my terrible table manners. I’d started my bread before everyone else and – oh my God – I wiped my nose with the back of my hand. Good thing my mobile was off. Any horrified texts from Lady C could wait for a couple of days. Suddenly Nick and Jean guffawed at the flying onion. My hands felt sweaty as the next shot was in the kitchen.
There sat Kathleen, at the pine table, talking with Mr Thompson – I gazed at the background of the shot. You could just make out Nick, sliding his arms around my waist. Or could you? His dark hair kind of merged in with the shadows and the short-sighted viewers might possibly mistake his arms for a really thick belt. As for me, the background light was so bad, you couldn’t make out my face. Heart racing, I watched the gardener nuzzle my neck. I hardly dared glance at Edward.
Which was bonkers. I was only here for two weeks. Why did I care about his opinion of me? My throat hurt because I knew the answer—like it or not, Gemma Goodwin, you’re starting to care about the Croxleys and their house.
Urgh. Edward had clearly spotted me, his noble cousin, on screen, getting intimate with a servant, because his cheeks flushed maroon and he jumped up, practically tossing his cup onto the tray as the credits rolled. While the rest of us stared at him, jaws open, he picked up the laptop and stormed out of the Parlour, slamming the door shut on his way.
LORD EDWARD’S E-DIARY
Sunday 2 nd September
‘Comments’
9.10p.m. I’ve just flipped open my
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