and effort required to maintain the home of a London family. Or, in this case, one man, the Earl of Harrington. It seemed an age ago that she had been the one on the receiving end of such solicitous care. When she had been better known as Miss Cicely.
She set the crystals aside for a footman to hang later and tidied the table where she had been working. Her mind was elsewhere , dreaming up a story as she moved toward the back stairs that would lead to her tiny bedroom on the top floor and she nearly collided with someone coming down. She jumped back with a start and he held her arm to steady her.
"Hullo there, Miss Devonport. Sneaking about in the back hallways this evening?"
She blushed and looked at her toes. "Good evening, Mr. Whitman. My apologies, I didn't hear you coming down the stairs."
"No bother. Have a pleasant evening."
He nodded to her and set off to the back door. When she had first arrived months ago she had felt something of a tendre for the earl's attractive, flirtatious valet. He had an easy smile and eyes that reminded her of the richest caramel. Taken with his fair hair and dapper style, it all served to make him rather devastatingly handsome. Mr. Dibbs, the butler, had warned Mr. Whitman off from being too attentive to her and of late he only flirted with her when the butler was within earshot, making it clear that he did it more to devil Dibbs than to express any interest in her. In the face of his apparent disinterest her own attraction had waned. It was for the best, really.
* * *
Since he was endeavoring to avoid those he knew, Whit eschewed alehouses he might have frequented in the past. He turned down a street a bit darker, a bit seedier, than he might normally, and found a place such that he might enjoy a bit of anonymity while the locals called to one another in friendly greeting and chatted about their day. His dress and manner were a bit out of keeping with the roughness of the place, but he tucked himself into a corner to observe. The mugs were unclean, the service surly, and the patrons loud. For this evening it suited him down to the ground.
Whit was significantly mellower when he returned to the house. He looked around the corner before proceeding up the steps, to ensure that he wouldn't run into the guileless, green-eyed Miss Devonport again. With her dark hair and tiny stature she reminded him of a charming little songbird. Recalling their earlier encounter he had to smile.
She was a sweet girl, far too sweet for a man like him. She had caught his fancy when she arrived, of course. Lovely women always caught his attention, and to his good fortune he often caught theirs. But it had shortly become obvious that Miss Devonport was far too good for the likes of Whit Whitman. She had comportment that outshone a typical housemaid, and spoke more demurely. On the occasions that he had tried to draw her into conversation she had merely blushed furiously and Dibbs had come out of nowhere to her defense. It was as though the butler had a sixth sense about any distress among the house staff. Being who he was, Whit merely used that knowledge to his advantage and continued to periodically flirt with the girl whenever he suspected Dibbs was near.
Perhaps that wasn’t fair to Miss Devonport herself. He’d had some chance to observe her, and s he seemed sad at times when she thought no one was watching her. Introspective. No chatterbox, that one. She was primarily quiet and... sweet. He really couldn't think of a better word. Although upon reflection it made him laugh. He was known for his love of sweets. He wondered if she was spicy, like gingerbread, or tasted dusky like chocolate. No, perhaps she was like a fruit fool. The dense sweetness of ripe gooseberries immersed in creamy custard.
"Whit."
He pulled up short at Dibbs' quiet voice. Was the butler somehow monitoring his thoughts now? "Yes?"
"The earl has returned from his evening."
"Already? Is he upstairs?"
The austere
She set the crystals aside for a footman to hang later and tidied the table where she had been working. Her mind was elsewhere , dreaming up a story as she moved toward the back stairs that would lead to her tiny bedroom on the top floor and she nearly collided with someone coming down. She jumped back with a start and he held her arm to steady her.
"Hullo there, Miss Devonport. Sneaking about in the back hallways this evening?"
She blushed and looked at her toes. "Good evening, Mr. Whitman. My apologies, I didn't hear you coming down the stairs."
"No bother. Have a pleasant evening."
He nodded to her and set off to the back door. When she had first arrived months ago she had felt something of a tendre for the earl's attractive, flirtatious valet. He had an easy smile and eyes that reminded her of the richest caramel. Taken with his fair hair and dapper style, it all served to make him rather devastatingly handsome. Mr. Dibbs, the butler, had warned Mr. Whitman off from being too attentive to her and of late he only flirted with her when the butler was within earshot, making it clear that he did it more to devil Dibbs than to express any interest in her. In the face of his apparent disinterest her own attraction had waned. It was for the best, really.
* * *
Since he was endeavoring to avoid those he knew, Whit eschewed alehouses he might have frequented in the past. He turned down a street a bit darker, a bit seedier, than he might normally, and found a place such that he might enjoy a bit of anonymity while the locals called to one another in friendly greeting and chatted about their day. His dress and manner were a bit out of keeping with the roughness of the place, but he tucked himself into a corner to observe. The mugs were unclean, the service surly, and the patrons loud. For this evening it suited him down to the ground.
Whit was significantly mellower when he returned to the house. He looked around the corner before proceeding up the steps, to ensure that he wouldn't run into the guileless, green-eyed Miss Devonport again. With her dark hair and tiny stature she reminded him of a charming little songbird. Recalling their earlier encounter he had to smile.
She was a sweet girl, far too sweet for a man like him. She had caught his fancy when she arrived, of course. Lovely women always caught his attention, and to his good fortune he often caught theirs. But it had shortly become obvious that Miss Devonport was far too good for the likes of Whit Whitman. She had comportment that outshone a typical housemaid, and spoke more demurely. On the occasions that he had tried to draw her into conversation she had merely blushed furiously and Dibbs had come out of nowhere to her defense. It was as though the butler had a sixth sense about any distress among the house staff. Being who he was, Whit merely used that knowledge to his advantage and continued to periodically flirt with the girl whenever he suspected Dibbs was near.
Perhaps that wasn’t fair to Miss Devonport herself. He’d had some chance to observe her, and s he seemed sad at times when she thought no one was watching her. Introspective. No chatterbox, that one. She was primarily quiet and... sweet. He really couldn't think of a better word. Although upon reflection it made him laugh. He was known for his love of sweets. He wondered if she was spicy, like gingerbread, or tasted dusky like chocolate. No, perhaps she was like a fruit fool. The dense sweetness of ripe gooseberries immersed in creamy custard.
"Whit."
He pulled up short at Dibbs' quiet voice. Was the butler somehow monitoring his thoughts now? "Yes?"
"The earl has returned from his evening."
"Already? Is he upstairs?"
The austere
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