Bridget felt her face redden. “That’s—no—you’ve got it all wrong. I’m still mourning my papa. You mustn’t—”
“I won’t,” Lady Luxton said. “Don’t worry. I shan’t say anotherword.” She took hold of Bridget’s arm and gently pulled her away.
Bridget glanced at Lady Matheson, seeing her in a new light for the second time that day. Her words had both pleased and comforted Bridget. It was refreshing to have guests who treated her like the granddaughter of the man who built Villa De Lacey, rather than a burden to the man who now owned her home and her heart.
*
The next day,as Bridget was returning from her morning walk with Bijou, she made her way to the servants’ quarters at the back of the house. Bijou scampered eagerly ahead of her, knowing that a bowl of delicious scraps would be awaiting him in Cook’s kitchen. But he stopped abruptly as he neared the rear of the house and cowered back.
Bridget raced forward to see what had alarmed him, but before she reached him, she heard a ruckus that told her all she needed to know.
“Don’t you dare set that down, hear me! This be my kitchen an’ I don’t want it, so get it out!”
“I’m not going anywhere until I have delivered the order Mr. Squires himself requested.” Mr. Collin’s voice sounded.
Good heavens!Bridget picked up her pace.The meat order must have arrived!She rounded the corner toward the back of the villa and saw Mr. Groby’s loaded meat wagon parked outside. A few feet away, Cook stood with her hands on her ample hips, glaring at Mr. Collins as she blocked him from entering the kitchen.
“What’s the matter?” Bridget asked as she approached them, even though she knew full well what the problem was.
“Our new butcher—or so he calls himself,” Cook said, her cheeks as fiery as her red hair. “I told him I don’t want none of Groby’s pork, and he keeps insisting that Mr. Squires ordered them for us. As if I’d believe that Mr. Squires went to the butcher and put in for a meat order! Gentlemen don’t handle their own meat orders, Mr. Collins. Ifyou were arealbutcher, you would know that!”
“Now, everyone, please calm down,” Bridget said. “As it happens, Mr. Squires and Ididplace the order when we visited Mrs. Groby yesterday.” She turned to Cook. “I took the biscuits you made for her children, remember?”
Cook nodded begrudgingly. “Aye, I remember. But it was just you who took them, not Mr. Squires.”
“We met on…Well, never mind that. The point is that we told Mr. Collins to deliver our meat order as usual. I meant to tell him without the ham, but I believe I forgot.”
“Forgot, miss? How? When they’ve been given a man’s heart in their feed? And it’s no wonder if Mrs. Groby was carrying on with that poet the way she’s carrying on with Mr. Collins now.” Cook gave a self-righteous sniff and re-planted her fists on her hips as she glared at the man.
“How dare you!” Mr. Collins said. “Mrs. Groby has done nothing wrong. As for me, I’m only trying to help a family in need.”
Cook opened her mouth and leaned forward to argue but Bridget got between them.
“Stop!” she said. “There’s no use in us standing here squabbling. Perhaps we can compromise. Mr. Collins, you’ll take the ham back with you to Mrs. Groby’s butcher shop and tell her we have no need for it this week. And you will leave the rest of the meat here.”
Mr. Collins gave Bridget a cold stare, and she almost regretted her offer of compromise. Instead, she straightened her shoulders and said, “It’s better than taking back the entire order, is it not, Mr. Collins?”
Collins stiffened his back. “I wish to speak with Mr. Squires.”
“Then you’re in luck, Mr. Collins,” Nate said as he came around the corner. “What seems to be the problem?”
“Your servants are refusing the meat you ordered.”
Bridget’s chest tightened. She was not a servant.
“I’m only refusing the ham,” Cook expostulated. “We don’t wantto turn our guests into cannibals, that’s all.”
“Mr. Collins, first let me thank you for delivering our meat order so promptly. Now, why don’t you do as Miss De Lacey suggested? Carry the meat inside, but take the pork home, and we’ll pay for the full order. Mrs. Groby and her children can enjoy the ham as our gift.”
Collins narrowed his eyes. “Very well,” he said in a clipped voice, “I shall explain your position to Mrs. Groby.”
“You’ll send Mrs. Groby our best wishes,” Bridget said sternly, still stinging from the way Collins had referred to her as a ‘servant’. She was more than that, and he needed to be aware of that fact. “And you will thank her for the timely delivery of our meat order, considering the circumstances.”
Mr. Collins blinked and seemed to shrink down a little. “Of course, Miss De Lacey,” he said. “I will relay your message as you told it.” He doffed his cap. Then he hauled the mutton out of his truck and headed for the pantry.
“I don’t trust that one,” Cook said after Mr. Collins was out of earshot.
“I thought it was Mr. Groby you didn’t trust,” Bridget said.
