‘Oh no,’ she gasped, as brown liquid spread quickly to the edges of the table. ‘Oh no, no.’ The tea began to flow onto the rug below, the sound surprisingly loud as it pattered onto the woven fabric. ‘Do not just stand there,’ she called to him. ‘Do something.’
Dropping to her knees, she placed her hands beneath the spot where the liquid was flowing the most and cupped them, trying to catch it. He grabbed a newspaper from the sideboard and hurried to her side.
‘You realise this is making it worse,’ he said, gesturing to where she was trying to hold the tea. The brown water was seeping through her fingers, falling in a wider patch than before as well as splattering large droplets onto her light-coloured dress. Tea covered her palm, but it acted more like a waterfall than the bowl she was obviously aiming for. He would laugh, but she did not look like she was finding the situation funny.
‘Oh, it is awful.’ She sounded close to tears, far more upset than the situation warranted in his opinion.
He spread a few sheets of newspaper over the rug and used the rest of it to soak up the tea on the table. ‘It really is not that bad. All of the blue in this room is overwhelming; the room could do with being another colour.’
‘But not brown. Oh, Edward, what am I going to do?’ She was still kneeling on the floor; he was squatting close to her,mopping up the tea. She did not seem to mind his proximity and he wondered if he had been imagining her aversion to him. The newspaper was ruined but it hardly mattered. She turned to him, her face close to his, her eyes glassy. ‘Where do you think the duke bought this rug from? Perhaps I can get a replacement before anyone notices it is damaged. Oh, but Edward, how much do you think it costs?’
The repetition of his name, the way she was turning to him, made him want to sweep her from the lounge and make her forget the rug ever existed, that the lounge itself was a figment of her imagination. ‘No one is going to make you replace anything, Kate.’
A single tear slipped over her lashes onto her cheek. Without thinking, he reached up and brushed it away with the tip of his finger.
‘But it is ruined,’ she whispered. Another tear fell and God help him, he wiped that one away too.
‘It was my fault for startling you.’ In his bid to act normally he had been too loud, barging into the room like a man off to a duel rather than to ask a house guest to perform a favour. ‘If anyone should buy a new one, it should be me.’
He very much doubted Tobias would mind the damage, his brother showed little interest in the household furnishings, but if he did, Edward would pay. The cost of the rug would not make a dent in his savings. He had begun investing money as soon as he had come of age and in only a few years had amassed more money than a lot of men did in their entire lives.
‘It is probably not even ruined,’ he added, because her lips were still downturned and he hated seeing it.
‘Tea is everywhere,’ she argued. ‘And I like a lot of milk. If it does not look awful, it will stink to high heaven when it dries. Oh, Edward, it is a disaster.’
‘You are exaggerating.’ Edward lifted the newspaper to show her it was fine and immediately wished he hadn’t. Bits of print came away in his hand, leaving sodden lumps clinging to the rug. It was like the rug had contracted a serious illness – the pox or something equally devastating. Kate stared at it, her wet eyelashes blinking furiously, trying to stem off further tears.
‘It is worse than I thought.’
‘It can be cleaned.’
‘Yes, you are right.’ She made her way to the edge of the rug and began to roll it up.
‘What are you doing?’
‘I am going to take it to my room and wash it.’
‘Leave it. We will speak to Mrs Bishop and she can arrange for it to be done.’
‘But by whom?’
He rocked back on his heels. He sensed this was a trick question, but he was not sure in what way. ‘By one of the maids.’
‘No, that is a terrible idea.’
‘It is what they are paid to do.’
‘They are not paid to take care of me and rectify my mistakes. Please.’ She tugged on the rug, trying to dislodge his knees from it. ‘Let me sort this out.’
He didn’t move. Her reaction was over the top for what had occurred and it reminded him of what he was like when confronted with something that unnerved him. He liked things to be straight. When they weren’t, it was like there were ants crawling beneath his skin. Those feelings were about order andthe deep-seated uneasiness he experienced when that order was changed or removed.
‘Kate.’
Ignoring him, she leapt up and began to push the table to one side to get to the rug beneath.
‘Kate.’
It appeared she could not hear him, because she knelt once more to finish rolling up the rug.
