“Felicity.” She purposely left theladypart off. After all, one must never overplay one’s hand. Her sister Joy would be so proud of her. “I fear we are in the process of preparing more refreshments, but nothing is yet ready.” Then an easy solution came to mind, as long as it was agreeable to him. “Might I tempt you with some coddled eggs and soldiers? I could prepare those for you in no time at all.” Chance loved her coddled eggs and soldiers. Surely, this gentleman would too.
He glanced heavenward as if she had answered his prayers, then gave her a formal bow. “I would forever be indebted to you for your kindness.”
Mrs. Amesbury cleared her throat and cast a pointed look at the maids. “Come along, girls. Back to your tasks. Marcie, gather what is needed for the gentleman’s repast, then return to helping me. Our lady…ourFelicitywill see to Lord…?”
His lordship jumped as though shot. “Do forgive me. Where are my manners? I am Mr. Drake Pemberton…er…sorry. No, I am not. I am now the Earl of Wakefield.” He rolled his shoulders and fidgeted in place like a child about to be scolded. “I fear I have yet to adapt to the title. Once a member of the gentry, always a member of the gentry and all that, you know? My uncle was the sixth Earl of Wakefield, and I was the only male heir to be found at the time of his passing.”
Mrs. Amesbury slowly nodded at the man’s babbling, then turned and ambled away with a clap of her hands. “Be about it, girls. We have guests to keep happy. Our Felicity has everything else well in hand.”
“Do have a seat, my lord, and I shall get your eggs and soldiersunderway.” With her insides fluttering to the point of giddiness, Felicity pointed his lordship to the stool at the end of the worktable, then hurried to help Marcie gather the silver egg coddler, eggs, bread, butter, and seasonings. Surely a man of Lord Wakefield’s size would need at least two eggs, maybe more. “How many would you like, my lord?”
There was that lopsided smile of his again, and her insides stopped their giddy fluttering. They melted. “While I could eat a dozen, I shall not be greedy, Miss Felicity. Two will surely hold me until the refreshment table is replenished.”
“Two it shall be, then.” Felicity swallowed hard.Mercy.She needed to stop squeaking like a mouse every time she spoke. What would he surely think of her? Clearing her throat, she bent to set the flame beneath the coddler that Marcie had already filled with steaming water from the fire. “And you recovered your horse, you said? Try not to be too angry with the stable lads. Sometimes the gates do not latch properly.”
“Oh, I cannot lay the blame at the stable lad’s feet.” Wakefield raked a hand through his gorgeously thick hair, settling it into a dashing arrangement of disarray. “I was the last at the stall. The fault is mine.”
A man who admits his own mistakes? Impressive.After cracking the eggs into the porcelain cups that fit inside the egg coddler, she eased them down into their holders, then popped on the lid. “It takes a rare gentleman to admit his own mistakes,” she said, then blushed and turned away. She should not have said that.
The dashing earl laughed. “I am not so rare.” He rose and joined her, leaning so close that it stole her breath away. “So that is how you coddle eggs. I never knew.”
She stood there, blinking like a hopelessly tongue-tied owl. He was actually talkingto herand notdown to her. “Uhm…yes. The water comes to a boil, heats the cups, and cooks the eggs to the perfect jamminess for nice, toasty soldiers to dip into.” The soldiers. She needed to toast the bread. “Heavens! I must make haste, or the eggs will grow cold waiting for your toast.”
“You are a wonder, Miss Felicity. My angel who has saved me from starvation.”
His angel?Her cheeks burned as hot as if she had touched them to the silver coddler. “I am sure if I were not here, Mrs. Amesbury or Marcie would have been more than happy to feed you.” She concentrated on cutting the bread to avoid looking into those hazel eyes of his that seemed to be filled with so much sincerity; she wondered if she were dreaming. He was beingniceto her. Her. Felicity. The least desirable and fattest of the litter, as she had overheard one cruel lordling say.
“Ahh…but would they have done it with such care?” He returned to his seat, seeming to sense that his nearness made her nervous. “I am quite the eloquent earl, you know.”
She glanced up from the bread she was carefully toasting over the fire, certain he was making fun of her this time. But he wasn’t. “Is that so?”
“Yes, and the tempting aroma of that buttery toast threatens to make me wax poetic.”
“Indeed?” She had no idea how to respond to that as she transferred the slices to a plate, cut them into soldiers, and set the plate in front of him. When he reached for one, without thinking, she threatened to smack his hand away. “Not yet. Wait for the eggs so you may dip them.”
He grinned and folded his hands in front of his plate. “Yes, ma’am.”
“It will only be a moment.” With the greatest of care, she lifted the porcelain cups out of the coddler and set them on a plate. After seasoning them to what she considered perfection, she placed them in front of him and nodded. “Now.”
After the first bite, he closed his eyes and groaned so loudly that Mrs. Amesbury and the rest of the maids at the far end of the kitchen turned and stared.
“Bliss,” he said. “Pure, unadulterated bliss.” He proceeded to finish off the first egg with such alarming speed that Felicity wondered if she should’ve coddled four instead of two. When had the poor man last eaten?
“Shall I prepare more for you?” she asked. “The rout cakes have just now gone into the oven and will be some time.”
“Nay, Miss Felicity.” He pressed a hand to his heart. “The first egg took the edge off; the second is to savor. But first, I must recite the verse that sprang to mind while I was lost in the wondrous delirium of those exquisite bites. Would you be offended by an impromptu poem?”
She couldn’t help but arch a brow as she wiped her hands on her apron. “It depends on the poem.”
He grinned. “’Tis naught but an ode to the fair maiden’s coddled eggs.”
Felicity noticed that all the scullery maids had, surprisingly, disappeared into the pantry. Only Mrs. Amesbury remainedsomewhatin the large kitchen, and the dear old soul stood in the pantry’s doorway with her back to Felicity and her guest. Rather obvious, if she did say so herself. She would be having a word with the matchmaking cook. Felicity accepted Lord Wakefield’s offer with a gracious nod. “I would be honored to hear your poem.”
He wiped the corners of his mouth and sat straighter with his hand pressed to his heart once more. “‘Ode to the Fair Maiden’s Coddled Eggs’ by an importunate breakfast admirer—namely me:
Oh, gentlest lass of apronedgrace,
With blush upon thy lovelyface,
