With a defiant tip to her chin, Merry folded her hands on the table. “I simply thought it wise of her to have a look around. A lady must take in as much information as possible when it comes to suitors. Is that not why you have so manyresourceswho keep you apprised of the latest gossip?”
“Well, apparently they are slipping, since I was not informed of the drastic state of the earl’s manor, which you two discovered—in quite an unseemly way, I might add. How bad was it?”
Before Merry could elaborate, Felicity spoke up. “It appears the earl inherited an estate riddled with disrepair and in dire need of proper tending by a bevy of servants, which he does not have.” She slowly pushed away her tea, which had gone cold, much like her poor, aching heart. “He needs my dowry. Badly. Either that, or he must find an heiress to marry.”
Serendipity stirred her tea, quietly clacking the silver spoon against the sides of the porcelain cup. “I was aware he was determined to restore the Wakefield name, but I had yet to discover that his country estate was in a shambles. It makes one wonder about his property in Town.”
“I would not describe it as ashambles.” Felicity felt so bad for the poor earl, and even worse for herself. Now, she would probably never know if he truly likedheras he had said. “It simply needs a great dealof work.”
After a sip of her tea, Serendipity nodded. “Well, perhaps it was providence stepping in to help you be rid of him. Felli. Your next caller will be more prosperous.”
“My next caller?” Incredulous, Felicity snorted. “I am two and twenty, and Lord Wakefield is the only caller I have ever received. What does that tell you, Seri?”
“It tells me you should stay out of the kitchens during festivities and see to the task of finding a gentleman worthy of you.”
“Even though I am two stone heavier than I should be and not nearly as lovely as the rest of my sisters.”
“I have never said that,” Serendipity claimed. “You are obviously overset by this afternoon’s events. Perhaps you should go upstairs and lie down.”
“You are not Mama. Stop trying to send me to my room.” Felicity rose from the table, determined to salvage the day and take hold of what little hope she had left in her heart. She liked Lord Wakefield—even if it was against her better judgment. She had to make things right. “I am going to make a batch of my best chocolate teacakes and take them to him.”
“You cannot call upon him,” Serendipity sputtered. “It is not done.”
Her course set, Felicity dismissed her sister with a flick of her hand. “It is done now, and Merry will come with me. Will you not, Merry?”
“Most definitely,” Merry said. “I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”
Chapter Six
Drake had nearlyreached home before his tongue stopped burning, and the ache in his jaws eased from that vile biscuit. What sort of poison had Lady Felicity used? Damn and blast it all, he had nearly choked to death right there in her garden. That would teach him for not being entirely open about his circumstances. He scrubbed his jaw and worked his mouth as if he had taken a hard punch.
What would she have done to him if she knew his uncle still lived and breathed? That thought stopped him in the middle of the lane. What would Lady Felicity do if he told her the truth, told her that Mr. Charles Pembroke was really Lord George Pemberton, the sixth Earl of Wakefield, and that he, Drake, was no more than a member of the gentry who had sold everything except for his father’s land to try to drag the Wakefield name out of its mire of disgraceful debt?
Drake snorted. His father’s land. An estate that had once provided quite an income, but also required servants and tenant farmers to work it. The tenant farmers had remained, but the rents they paid barely covered Wakefield Manor’s needs, and he would be damned straight to hell before he raised their rents because of his bloody uncle’s selfish ways.
He shook his head, amazed at how he had mismanaged everything while trying to clean up his uncle’s mess. He had failed everyone. Worst of all, he had failed the memory of his father. Damn, but hehated money. It truly was the root of all evil.
He raked a hand through his hair and spat in the dust of the road. Without Lady Felicity’s dowry, what the devil was he to do now? Worse than that, what would he do without Lady Felicity? His precious kitchen angel lived in his thoughts and haunted his dreams. Not just because of her beauty, but for her kindness, her caring, and her soulful eyes that reflected the sweetness of her character. Now what would he do, since any hope of making her his was well and truly gone?
Her revelations about her mistreatment as a wallflower of thetonhad shocked him, but also explained why he had discovered her in Lady Atterley’s kitchen. What he wouldn’t give for the name of the cur who had slandered her and put that pain in her lovely sapphire eyes. It didn’t matter that her brother and brother-in-law had already pummeled the worthless cove. Drake wanted his own opportunity to teach the bastard how a genteel lady should be treated.
Hands shoved in his pockets, he shouldered his way through the front gate. The wrought-iron bars of the entrance were in dire need of painting, but it couldn’t be helped—not until he paid down more of the debts against his credit. At least all the merchants had been kind and understanding, but the pity in their eyes stabbed him in the heart.
“Are you unwell, my lord?” Yateston asked as Drake dejectedly strode into the entry hall that was as stripped of every refinement and bauble as the rest of the manor.
“I am fine,” he told the butler. “How is Uncle today? When I looked in on him earlier, he was sleeping.”
Yateston brightened. “He insisted on rising from his bed, so I assisted him into his bath chair and placed him just outside beside the doorway next to the kitchen garden. He wished for a bit of fresh air.”
“Well done. I shall join him out there.” Drake handed over his hat and gloves, and then his coat. There was no reason for anything other than a waistcoat here, and one never knew when he might be calledupon to help with a chore. As he passed through the kitchen, he noticed a bowl filled with shiny red apples in the center of the worktable. “Where did those come from?” he asked Mrs. Pepperhill. They couldn’t have come from Wakefield land. Their trees had been stricken with a blight and died, much like the Wakefield coffers.
She curtsied and bobbed her kerchief-covered head. “My brother’s missus sent them, my lord. Their trees are giving more than they can put up at a time, and they thought we might enjoy them.”
“We will, indeed. Please extend my gratitude for your family’s generosity. It is most appreciated.”
The housekeeper dipped another nod, then returned to her task of chopping carrots and parsnips. “Got these from the garden today, and there be plenty more where they come from.”
“More good news.” But Drake didn’t feel the sentiment. How was it he could coax the earth to grow things with abundance, but couldn’t convince the ledger books to stop bleeding red ink? “I am out to the garden to visit with Uncle. Shall I take him some water?”
