“You rang, milord?”
“Yes, Blythe. I have some particular requirements for tonight’s dinner. I would like only one servant and would make it the new girl, what’s her name?”
“Perkins, Your Grace… Elizabeth Perkins…” Blythe sounded almost aghast, “But Your Grace, she is young and inexperienced. She is not ready to serve alone at supper. I would be happy to—”
“No, it must be Perkins,” Seth commanded.
“Your Grace. I fear that would be putting undue pressure on the girl. It would not be fair,” the butler protested.
“Those are my orders, Blythe,” Seth said with finality, “see they are carried out.”
Blythe hesitated a moment, then nodded his head reluctantly.
“Very good, Your Grace. It shall be as you command. Will there be anything else?”
“Ah, yes. Fetch me brandy,” he instructed.
If Amelia was offended by his advances,good. It would surely accelerate the end of their betrothal. To that end, he would make life at Hillcrest as unpalatable a prospect as he could.
By the time supper arrived, Seth had imbibed several brandies in his rooms. He did not change his clothes and ambled downstairs to the dining room, carrying a fresh glass. The Willoughbys and Amelia were already seated, though the table was only half set. He wondered how long they had been waiting and judged it to be longer than would be considered acceptable by Lady Prescott’s relieved visage as Seth entered the room.
“Ah, good evening, Your Grace. I was beginning to think I had misremembered the time for dinner,” Lady Prescott chuckled awkwardly.
“You did not. I am late. Thank you for pointing it out,” Seth remarked, depositing himself at the head of the table.
“It is customary to apologize for keeping your guests waiting,” Amelia ushered into the silence as Lady Prescott paled.
“I am not a friend of custom,” Seth replied with a sly smirk. Perhaps that is a part of my education you can help me address as my wife. Here’s to my education!”
He raised the glass above his head as though in a toast. Then he noticed the empty glasses next to each place setting. Elizabeth Perkins was hurrying around the table with jangling cutlery, trying to complete the setting.
“For heaven’s sake, girl!” Seth barked, “My guests have not even been served an aperitif. Sherry, girl! At once!”
Perkins jumped at the snap in his tone and dropped the cutlery, which clattered to the floor. Lady Prescott jerked too. Amelia glared at Seth before pushing her chair back and standing. She began to help the maid pick up the cutlery, smiling kindly at her. Seth saw the young woman’s hands trembling and felt guilt at the fright he had given her.
It is all for the greater good. Once this is over, you will not have to put up with me, Elizabeth Perkins, as I do not intend to set foot in this house again.
“That is a servant’s job,” Seth intoned, tossing back an unhealthy swallow of brandy.
“As you said upon greeting us today, traditionally, the wives in your family often partake in chores,” Amelia pointed out, “now, sherry for three? Or do you wish to join us?”
Seth felt silly at his overbearing act. He glowered at her as she cheerfully dispensed glasses of sherry to her family. Once all had a glass in their hand, Amelia raised her own.
“Now then, what was your toast, Your Grace?”
“It was so long ago, I quite forgot,” Seth shot back, draining the last of his brandy. “I will have another of these while you are up.”
If this does not send her running, then nothing will, short of my proclaiming myself a devil worshipper or a republican.
“I think that you have had quite enough,” Amelia frowned, taking her seat, “but I see a decanter has been brought out if you wish to serve yourself.”
Her self-control was remarkable. Seth narrowed his eyes, trying to fathom her game.
What is it that she desires so greatly that she will endure such provocation? She is wealthier than Catherine Halsey and with more social capital than Sarah Vickers. Both could not stand me and broke the betrothal. What does she hope to gain?
Nor for the first time, he considered that she was in league with Tharpe Monkton. But then he seemed positively gleeful at the prospect of the marriage clause being defaulted on. The problem withplayinga drunkard was that the act eventually became a reality.
His thoughts had begun to slide, soft around the edges. The brandy coiled warm and treacherous in his veins, turning sharp doubts into vague impressions and truths into something blurrier.
