Wedded in Scandal (28 page)

“Was there more?”

“With Master Robert? Always. Perhaps I should just show you his request.” So saying, he reached over to his desk and pulled out a crisp sheet of linen. Helaine sat back down on the settee, then gingerly took the paper. She read it twice, her heart pounding harder and harder with each word.

She looked up at the butler, her mind blanked of anything but dismay. “He couldn’t,” she whispered.

Dribbs nodded, his expression grave. “Yes, ma’am, he did.”

“But I’m just a dressmaker. I’m not—”

“I will remind you that in this household, we follow his lordship’s requests to the letter.”

Helaine stared at Dribbs, at a complete loss. First of all, she absolutely knew that he did not follow his lordship’s requests to the
exact
letter. Second of all, servants did not dine with the masters, even in unusual households. And third…third was Dribbs himself. He was acting so completely strange. She could not get a handle on his mood. One moment she thought he was laughing at her; the next moment he seemed beyond stern.

“Mr. Dribbs, I don’t know what to say.”

“Say nothing then,” he quipped. “As you are to dine with
the family, I have brought you here to make sure you do not disgrace my table.”

She did not quibble with his claim that it was
his
table. She knew that servants often felt more pride of ownership than the masters themselves did.

“I will do my best not to shame you,” she managed.

“Well, you must have some instruction. If you are to dine with the family, you must make sure to do so as a lady who deserves to be there, always cognizant that you are eating with the children of an earl.”

She didn’t know how to answer that. After all, she was the daughter of an earl herself. She knew how to act like a lady. If anything, she had to remember to add a coarseness to her manners so as not to expose herself.

“I, um, I shall try to remember,” she said.

“Good. Now pray pick up that bun.”

She looked at the man, her mind stuttering. He wanted her to pick up the roll? And
not
eat it? He waited, his eyebrow lifted, as she slowly reached out and gently lifted up the bun.

“Do not grab it as if you were handling meat. Touch it gently, delicately between two fingers.”

Two fingers? But it was a rather large bun. Still, she did as he bade.

“And raise the smaller fingers like so.” He fluted his fingers, holding them up before her eyes so that she could mimic him.

She glanced at him and managed a slow nod as she grasped the bun between thumb and forefinger then extended the smaller of her digits. It was incredibly awkward, and her fingers were growing stiff, but she managed it.

“Excellent. Now take a bite. Mind, not a meat pie type of bite, but delicate little nips—like a lady—along the edge. And don’t forget to keep your other fingers extended.”

She frowned. Did he truly think ladies ate like this? Tiny nips and bizarre hand positions? She’d never done anything so ridiculous in her entire life. But she was starving and he was asking that she eat—or nip—at some food, so she tried
to do it. She opened her mouth to bite. It really was a large bun.

“Not so wide! You’re not a cow. Lips closed. Lips closed, I say!”

Lips closed? How did one eat with one’s lips closed? She narrowed her mouth.

“Smaller! Smaller! You are a lady, and ladies don’t really eat.”

She couldn’t stop herself from glaring at him. Damn it, she was hungry! She was trying to do what he wanted and still get some food, but it was impossible. She thought she had it. Indeed, she managed to get the bun all the way to her lips without dropping it. But then before she could take the smallest bite, he abruptly reached forward and pulled the bun from her hand. It was easy for him, of course, because she was only holding on to it with two fingers.

“Excellent!” he said. “Now on to the tea.”

Her stomach grumbled in response, and it was all she could do not to snatch the thing back in her fist and shove it into her mouth. Meanwhile, he was gesturing to the tea as he poured her a steaming cup.

She inhaled the stiff brew with gratitude. A bracing drink of that would indeed help her enormously. Without thinking, she reached for the cup.

“Tut-tut-tut! You are a lady, remember? Ladies do not pick up their teacups.”

“What?” Of course ladies picked up their teacups.

“They lift them with the power of their beauty and their poise. A cup does not rest in their hands so much as float there.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“It’s true!” he cried.

“Of course it’s not!” she snapped.

She had meant to be circumspect. She had meant to keep her eyes lowered and stick to her place as a servant in this household. But to be instructed like this by the butler was beyond humiliating. Especially since everything he said was utter claptrap! And whereas Mrs. Mortimer knew to nod
and keep her mouth shut, Lady Helaine was not so easily subdued. And it was the lady she once was who snatched the teacup from the table and all but threw it at Dribbs.

“Ladies do not float their food into their mouths!” she said as she stood, teacup in hand. “With their lips shut! They are human just like you and I. Have you never met Lady Cassandra? The only lovely thing about her is her name. And she eats like her barbarian father. With her fist, like this!”

So saying, she grabbed hold of the bun and held it aloft like a palmed apple, which she then shoved straight at her open lips. She bit down on a huge mouthful and was promptly rewarded with the taste of Cook’s wonderful baking. Her eyes slid to half closed and she was so enthralled with the taste that she nearly missed Dribbs’s next words.

“Well, then! Can I presume that you are uninterested in learning the proper grip for a spoon?”

She almost answered what she would like to do to him with her spoon. And the knife, too, but at that moment, something sparked in her brain. Perhaps it was finally getting some food, perhaps it was the way Dribbs’s eyes were crinkled at the edges. Crinkled as if he were smiling. Or perhaps holding back laughter. Her hand with the bun slipped away from her mouth.

“Good God, you are teasing me,” she whispered.

“Of course I am, Lady Helaine. Forgive me, but I couldn’t resist.”

Lady Helaine? Her knees went out and she collapsed back onto the settee. He knew who she was. Meanwhile, Dribbs pulled the teacup from her hand and set it back on the table to refill it, as she had spilled most of it during her tirade.

“You cannot know,” she whispered. “Robert would not have told you!”

Dribbs pressed the hot teacup into her trembling hands before she completely lost herself to panic. “His lordship did not say a word, but your breeding shines through. And if I might explain: your father and the current earl were sometimes companions. They both love the brandy, you see.”

She closed her eyes, all too afraid of what was coming.

“This was back when the earl resided here, you understand. Before Lord Redhill asked him to remove to his club.”

Yes, she knew Robert had thrown his father out of the house. How many times had she wished she could do the same to her own father? And yet a moment later, she would desperately long to see him again.

“One evening, your father was part of an impromptu party thrown by the earl. It went on quite late.”

“I’m sure it went on until you poured my father into a carriage and sent him home.”

“Well, yes. But did you know that your father could be quite maudlin in his cups?”

She nodded. “Yes. He would declare love for the most ridiculous things.”

“Not so, my lady. He would declare his love for
you
. He had a miniature he kept in his pocket. Of you. He would draw it out and call you the best of all possible daughters. Patient, kind, and smart as a whip.”

Helaine stared at the butler, her heart in her throat. “I never…he never…” She closed her eyes. Ridiculous to feel touched by words from a drunken fool. “He had so little care of us. It’s…um…nice to know that he did love us.”

“Drunkards are a sad lot, my lady. They love, my lady. Just like the rest of us. They love a great deal. But they just can’t bring themselves to act as they ought. But never doubt the feeling.”

“Thank you, Dribbs,” she whispered. “Thank you for that.”

“It is nothing but the honest truth. Now eat up, my lady. I know you’re hungry, and Lady Gwen’s new relations are running everyone ragged.”

Helaine nodded, using the time to sort through the swirling emotions inside her. The feelings toward her father were complicated enough, but she had no idea how to handle Dribbs now. Bloody hell,
he knew who she was
.

“Please, Dribbs, I am especially thick this morning. I’m not sure how to proceed.”

“Well, exactly as a lady ought.”

She bit down into the bun with animal-like ferocity. She
thought that was the better choice than to rip the man’s head off. Act as a lady ought. My God, what did that mean? “Dribbs—”

“You have suffered a great wrong, Lady Helaine, and that’s a crying shame. So you’re Mrs. Mortimer now, a right fine dressmaker, hiding in the shadows, skulking around the house, praying that no one notices you.”

She straightened. “I do not skulk!”

“You hunch your shoulders and try to hide your face when you’re not talking dresses and the like.”

Did she? “That’s not skulking.”

“It is, because it’s just when you’re here. Wendy remarked on it to me just the other day. Said you don’t do that at your shop. Just here.”

He’d been talking to Wendy. “Dribbs, I am not ashamed of who I’ve become.”

“’Course not. But seems to me, you’re ashamed of Lady Helaine. But, begging your pardon, you’re the daughter of an earl. Shameful father or not, you shouldn’t be hiding yourself. Ain’t no one here will think less of you. I’ll see to it.”

“I beg of you, Dribbs. Please do not speak of this to anyone.”

“Of course not!” He reared back, obviously insulted, but a moment later, he was leaning forward to impress his point on her. “But that’s just what I’m trying to tell you, my lady. There’s no need to skulk.”

“I don’t skulk!”

“Well, whatever you’re doing, the maids are beginning to remark on it. Calling you odd, and that’s just not right. Blood will out, Lady Helaine. You may be Mrs. Mortimer, but people can see you’re better. Trying to hide it just raises more questions.”

“But they can’t know—”

“No one will know. If you hold your head up and stop hiding your face, then they just think that you’re somebody who used to be more. Someone facing a bit of hard times. There’s no shame in that. It’s only when you skul—er, hide
your face—that they begin to question. Why would she hide? Who did she used to be?”

Helaine nodded slowly. She had been especially nervous here. It wasn’t just that Robert was here. It was being back among the elite. What if someone recognized her? What if someone used to be a servant to someone she’d known in school? She knew the odds weren’t high, but she couldn’t help worrying. And indeed, her fears were justified, because Dribbs did know her identity.

“It would be disastrous if word got out.”

“And it won’t, if you stop acting like you’ve got something to be ashamed of.”

Helaine swallowed. “But should I eat meals with the family, then? Isn’t that more odd?”

Dribbs snorted. “You spent most of the night closeted with his lordship. Won’t be the first mistress to be sat at the breakfast table.”

“We were just talking!” Helaine cried.

Dribbs only shrugged. “Doesn’t matter what you were doing. Just matters that you act the part. Mistress, dressmaker, daughter of an earl. None of them would be skulking about my halls.”

“I am
not
his mistress!”

“As you wish,” he said.

There was nothing more to be said at that point. Besides, Robert was no doubt waiting for her at the breakfast table. She still wasn’t sure it was a good idea to go. After all, it only increased the idea that she was his mistress. But that was better than the truth of her identity, so she supposed she had to do what was required. Besides, it was only a couple days more. It would be nice to sit at a table again, to be served food, and to talk over dinner. Like a little taste of what might have been.

Still uneasy with the idea, she left Dribbs to go to the breakfast area. She didn’t burst into the room as if she was born to it, but was mindful that she didn’t skulk either. She stepped boldly forward and pushed open the door.

Two people sat at table—Robert and Gwen—and both
looked up and smiled at her. Robert’s expression, of course, was a good deal warmer than Gwen’s, but it was nice to see that both welcomed her.

“There you are, Mrs. Mortimer. I was beginning to wonder if you had succumbed to some ailment.”

“Uh, no, my lord,” she managed, as she belatedly remembered to curtsy. “Mr. Dribbs has just now informed me of your request.”

Robert raised his eyebrows at her tone, which had been a tad bit snippy. He likely took it to mean she was angry with him, which she was, she supposed. After all, because of him she’d stayed up most of the night talking with him and now everyone thought her his mistress. She completely dismissed her own culpability. Guilt was one emotion she didn’t have room for just then. Not with all the feelings that Dribbs had just stirred up.

In short, she was confused and disoriented, and now she had to sit at table with the man who had directly or indirectly caused all of it!

Bloody hell, she was tired. And still hungry. She decided she could understand things better with tea. But before she could move, Robert tilted his head and spoke in his usual imperious tone.

“Mrs. Mortimer? Is something amiss?”

A very great deal, but she couldn’t say that. “Amiss? No, my lord. I don’t believe so. Why do you ask?”

“Because you’re standing there glowering, and I find it most irritating to my digestion.”

“I am not glowering!” she responded before she could stop herself.

“I believe you were.”