She shook her head. “I suspect I won’t be liking anyone.”
Bellamy returned the strawberry he was holding to the basket. “Let’s have a wager.”
A wager? As in a bet?
His expression was serious, but something lit his eyes, as if he was enjoying their conversation more than he was letting on. “I’ll bet that you fall in love with my choice by summer’s end. If I win, you agree to marry him.”
“And if you lose?”
“I’ll convince Torin you’re not ready.”
She wouldn’t fall in love with Bellamy’s choice, not in just a few months. Especially because she wouldn’t have time to court anyone, except for perhaps on Sunday afternoons when she wasn’t required to work.
“Agreed?” He shifted the basket of strawberries, took a step back, then cocked his head as he studied the scene like he was considering the aesthetics of the whole kitchen.
The white basket of berries did make a pretty picture on the light oak tabletop with the window and flower-filled meadow in the background.
Could she agree to Bellamy’s terms? If Bellamy had someone in mind, couldn’t she at least spend a little time with the fellow?
Besides, Torin was stubborn and probably wouldn’t let the matter go until she proved to him that she didn’t need a matchmaker, that when she was ready to get married, she’d find her own man.
“Alright, Bellamy. I’ll agree to your wager, so I will. But I’ll give you two months, just until the beginning of August. I won’t be needing more time than that.”
“True enough.” A smile spread across Bellamy’s face, one that seemed to say he’d already won.
“Don’t be getting your hopes too high.”
“All I ask is that you give the fellow a fair chance. Can you do that?”
Could she? Aye, she wouldn’t make a wager with Bellamy and not follow through on her half. “I’ll do my best, Bellamy. You have my word.”
“Good.”
“Will you be telling me who the fellow is, or am I to be surprised when he comes courting on Sunday?”
“He won’t be coming to court you.”
“No?” That was strange but perfectly fine with her.
“No.” Bellamy started to cross to the door. “He won’t need to come because he already lives here.”
Her mind raced with the possibilities among the staff. The positions of cook, housekeeper, housemaid, and now her position as scullery maid all belonged to women. There were only two men—the coachman who was middle-aged and a gardener who was grandfatherly. Surely Bellamy could find someone younger than either of those men.
Bellamy halted near the door, his expressive eyes still alight. “Figure it out yet?”
“Go on with you now. Just spit it out.”
“’Tis easy enough.” Bellamy paused. “Kiernan Shanahan—”
“What about Kiernan?” A young woman spoke from behind Bellamy.
His eyes widened with surprise—and something else Alannah couldn’t name.
Zaira sidled past Bellamy and into the kitchen. The young woman reminded Alannah of Mrs. O’Brien—Enya. Both had vibrant red hair and lovely green eyes. Both also had stunning features that put them in a class of beauty all their own.
While Enya had a polished style with elegant gowns and coifed hair, Zaira was less formal, less concerned with her appearance, less put together. She often wore her hair free of a chignon, tied back with a simple ribbon, like at the moment, so the long waves dangled down her back with loose strands floating about her face. Although Zaira donned the fine gowns expected of someone in her position, Alannah had heard the housemaid and cook gossiping about how Zaira refused to wear a corset and crinoline.
Regardless, she was like a beautiful bird flitting about, full of energy and life. Now as she crossed into the kitchen, she smiled warmly at Alannah before she spun around and faced Bellamy.
