She gave her head a quick shake. “Not until I say yes. If I do.”
Flint nodded. Nothing else he could do. “Well then, you are my guest.”
“With housekeeping duties.”
“With the rights of a lady of the house.”
She just frowned. “And your aunt? I will effectively displace a woman who has had a free hand here for how long?”
He shrugged. “Gran's been gone two years.”
She nodded. “At least allow me to accord her the respect to maintain some of her control.”
He considered her a moment. How many other women would offer to share seniority? “You are now in charge of the house. It is your decision.”
She gave him another quick, firm nod.
“I'll see you at dinner?”
Her eyebrows rose. “Will you?”
He shook his head. “My fiancée does not eat in the kitchen.”
“But I am not your fiancée.”
He was frowning now, even though he was enjoying the bright edge of her wit. “Call yourself what you wish,” he said. “You will eat with me. In the dining room. Like a civilized person. Maybe we can start to get to know each other.”
“And your aunt?”
He grinned at her. “God only knows.”
* * *
His aunt did join them, perched upon a fat pillow placed with an almost reverent attention by Miss Fare, who took the seat next to her. Felicity decided it was probably better that the old woman had joined them. She was feeling jittery again, unbalanced, as if Lord Flint was yanking the carpet from under her feet. She worried about what kind of conversation she would be obliged to enter and what deficiencies in form and manner she might betray.
Instead she listened to a desultory conversation that mostly involved people and places Felicity had no knowledge of, which left her ample time to enjoy the luxury of a civilized meal where little hands weren't spilling things and little voices weren't raised in ear-splitting whines.
It didn’t bother her at all that she knew few of the people involved, although it did amaze her at the number who regularly saw their way to Glenhaven to visit, and of all generations. No wonder Aunt Winnie knew so much about so many.
But that was not a problem she decided to waste time on. The wine was beyond anything she had ever tasted. The food was delicious enough that she had to remind herself not to squirrel any away in her pockets for later when she would certainly be hungry. No one went hungry in a duke's house, even an impecunious instructor of piano and deportment.
Maybe one small apple, she thought, instincts pushing her hard as she watched Flint and his aunt discuss several men he had served with.Perhaps a boiled potato. Just in case. No one would notice, surely.
“Are you expecting sudden famine, Miss Chambers?” Lord Flint asked, his voice dry as dust.
Felicity dropped the small, warm potato into her pocket and lifted her chin. “It is a long walk to the kitchens, my lord. Sometimes a person gets a mite peckish later on.”
He lifted a quizzing glass. An actual gold quizzing glass, as if she were an insect to be examined. “From the way your dress hangs, your peckishness must be chronic.”
She felt a miserable flush rise up her neck. As if she needed to hear that she had only recently had an even plumper figure.
“I may not be an expert, my lord,” she said, keeping her chin high, “but I believe that such a comment is not considered appropriate courting behavior.”
He lifted one eyebrow, which made Felicity even more unhappy. She had practiced for months to affect such a look. She had never succeeded. There was something so wonderfully toplofty about it, especially when the person wielding it was wearing his best dinner attire.
“I don't know,” he said, dropping the glass and picking up his wine. “I would think that if one were so chronically under-served as to pilfer dinner victuals, any man who could provide an unlimited supply of potatoes would seem quite attractive.”
An odd gurgle escaped her. Damn him, he truly made her laugh, even over her own humiliation.
