She nodded decisively. “Noble.”
Again, he reached for his glass, his dancing eyes on hers.
Only his hand missed the glass and knocked into a candlestick instead, sending the flaming candle toppling to the starched tablecloth beneath.
There was a brief moment wherein Amelia watched, stricken, as the cloth beneath the candle’s blaze blackened. Then orange flames leapt from the surface, spreading outward with alarming speed.
With a yelp, Amelia jumped up. Edward grabbed his glass—successfully this time—and doused the flames with the contents.
But the small amount of brandy-laced wine missed the growing fire almost completely. Footmen rushed around them, shouts alerting the household to the sudden disaster. Amelia stumbled around her chair at the same moment as Edward. He grabbed her wrist and pulled her from the table, half shielding her with his body. One of the footmen grabbed the large lid from a serving dish held by his bewildered colleague, and deftly dropped it atop the blaze.
At that moment, a maid rushed in with a large pitcher of water. Edward released Amelia and took it from her. In swift movements, he sidestepped the footmen, lifted the serving lid, and dumped the water onto the table.
The flames vanished in an instant as the water cascaded over them and splashed to the floor. The now-crowded room stared at the remains of their dinner, drenched in water with a large, steaming black stain marring the pristinely white fabric.
Edward’s eyes raised from the mess to meet Amelia’s horrified gaze. Her hand was covering her mouth, and his hand still clutched the glorious pitcher at his side.
A laugh escaped her. Then another. Edward bit his lips together.
And then they were both laughing—shaking with mirth as even their servants cracked smiles and a few entertained chuckles.
“You couldn’t have at least set my dress on fire?” Amelia asked through her laughter.
“I gave it a good effort, I think.”
“Remind me to never sit by you at dinner again.”
“But then how will I ruin another of your dresses?” He came closer, handing the pitcher to a waiting maid.
“I am certain you’ll manage.”
“I have already concocted several promising schemes.”
Amelia tamped down her laughter as he reached her side. “Ought I to fear for my life?”
“Most definitely.”
Chapter Fourteen
Edward paced past his window,awaiting the footman who would assist him in dressing. He ought to have asked a member of his household to take on the valet position more permanently, but the idea felt disloyal to Barton.
He stopped pacing, then stared at the door with open hands on hips. How many gentlemen felt loyalty to their valet? Certainly not his own father. He shook his head, feeling ridiculous. What did it matter, anyway? Barton was his only male friend; of course he felt loyal to the man.
And anything that set him apart from his father had to be a good thing.
Of course, he’d learned that the hard way, but still.
The footman arrived at last and helped him dress for the day. After tying his own cravat, Edward went down for breakfast.
He generally had Cook send up a tray, and it felt rather odd to be breaking the habit he’d had for years. But he wanted more time with his wife. He had asked Amelia the night before if she would join him in breaking their fasts, and he couldn’t seem to hold back his excitement.
He’d planned an excursion to Bullock’s Museum that afternoon and had been toying with the idea of accepting an invitation to a ball later that week. Edward’s stomach twisted oddly at the thought of the ball, though he could not particularly decide why. Perhaps it was simply because he was anxious over how Society would accept their marriage. Regardless, it was intended to be one of the largest crushes of the Season and would aid him in furthering his attempts with Amelia. Women always complimented his dancing.
Women also often cornered him during the dances, but Edward was sure his marriage would end that nonsense.
“Good morning, Lord Norwich.” Amelia’s voice greeted him as he entered the drawing room. He stopped in the doorway, taking in the scene. She had already gathered her food and was sitting at a small table near the window. Her dress was a light green color and far simpler than most he saw her in. Perhaps it was new? It fit her better, though there was still something about it that did not seem right.
“Good morning, Amelia.” He began walking toward her, pulled to her side by an unseen force. About five seconds too late, though, he realized he needed to fill his plate first, and so he abruptly changed course halfway to the table. Or, he told his feet to change course, but they were slow in comprehending. And so, he enacted a sort of hop and trip at the same time, miraculously landing on his feet.
