He raised his hands to his temples and rubbed them. “Curried pheasant is fine,” he muttered.
Curried pheasant? He hadn’t been listening at all, had he? She supposed Cook would have to improvise, then.
“I will see you later at supper? In the dining room, this time,” she added, to make sure he went to the correct room. “Higgins has found the chairs, and the village carpenter has repaired them. They’re as good as new!”
Gabriel nodded.
“Well then. I will see you in several hours.”
He nodded again.
Birdie left to take a bath and to change into her prettiest dress. It was a sea green evening gown that Eilidh had magically refashioned. It fit her to perfection. Ally combed her hair up and managed to produce something akin to curls. For the first time in her life, Birdie felt pretty.
Cook had disapproved of the menu.
“It’ll be haggis, neeps and tatties tonight or nuthin’ at all,” she said.
“But Mrs Gowan. We’ve had this so often already. Tonight is to be special.”
The cook grumbled. “Tattie soup and mutton pie, then. And for dessert the leftover syllabub from th’other day.”
“That sounds divine, Mrs Gowan,” Birdie said.
When the candles were lit and the table was set, she waited for him eagerly. It was funny how her heart hammered in that manner. Was this what happiness felt like? A sizzling feeling of excitement that coursed through her veins?
If Cecily Burns had known about Gabriel––that he was not only a duke, but a kind, caring one, with fundamental decency and integrity—would she have still insisted on her madcap scheme? The thought of Cecily immediately quenched her feeling of happiness.
Deep guilt burned inside her at her own deception. She needed to come clean with Gabriel, who still thought she was Miss Burns.
Someone knocked on the door, and she jumped.
It was Higgins.
“Beg your pardon, Your Grace,” he said. “Can I serve the soup already?” He was carrying the soup tureen.
“Do wait, Higgins. His Grace hasn’t arrived yet.”
Higgins set the tureen on the table. “Aye, he’s gone to bed,” he muttered.
“I don’t think so.” Birdie bit her lips. Higgins had misunderstood her, hadn’t he? He said he was coming.
Higgins looked at her with watery eyes. “Will you be waiting, Your Grace?”
“Of course.” She smoothed her skirt down with skittish hands. Why wasn’t he coming? He probably needed more time to get ready.
After half an hour had passed, she sent Higgins to check on him. But he was sitting in the chair by the door, snoring.
An hour later, with the soup entirely cold, Birdie felt a sinking stone of disappointment in her stomach.
He wasn’t coming.
He either had forgotten, which was unlikely. Or he’d simply changed his mind. If so, he could’ve sent her a message. Or even better, he could’ve told her so himself.
She felt something well up inside her, which she blinked away quickly.
“Well then, I shall simply have to eat the good food on my own,” she decided, sat down, and went to work. “Before it goes to waste.”
It didn’t taste half as good eating it alone. Perhaps she could send up a tray with some leftovers, but then she wasn’t certain he deserved it after letting her sit in the cold like that.
