“I haven’t seen James, but I’ll make certain to return it to him.” She held out her hand, and he dropped the gold button into her palm. She expected him to turn and leave at once—aristocrats and kitchens, after all—but he remained where he was, his gaze lingering on her face.
“Is there anything else I can do for you, er . . . my lord?” Was he a lord? She hadn’t the vaguest idea, but it seemed a safe guess, given that the house was teeming with London’s upper ten thousand.
“I do beg your pardon—again. Lord Dunwitty. It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Miss St. Claire.”
“I—thank you.” Goodness, how strange. What could he want with her? And now she thought of it, what sort of lord came all the way down to the kitchen to return a button to one of the footmen?
No sort of lord she’d ever heard of.
“That’s a great many eggs you have there, Miss St. Claire.” He peered over the edge of the bowl. “What are you making?”
“I thought I’d make a baked custard for pudding this evening.”
“Lovely! I do adore a baked custard.”
He grinned at her—a sweet, boyish grin. Very charming, indeed, and she did like the way his fair hair flopped into those playful brown eyes. He was handsome—all of the duke’s gentlemen friends were handsome, it seemed—but as pretty as he was, he didn’t make her heart thrum in her chest like—
Well. Like no one at all.
It was just as well, too, as the Duke of Grantham’s breathtakingly beautiful future betrothed was now here, and rather possessive, if the jealous grasp she’d had on his arm was any indication.
But then shewashis betrothed. Surely, she had the right to grasp him wherever she—
No. No, that wouldn’t do. The duke’s romantic affairs weren’t her concern, and she wouldn’t think on it. It wasn’t as if the duke was likely to initiate a second kiss withher. No, there would be no more pounding hearts, heated flushes, or breathlessness.
No more kissing. Certainly, no more kissing.
“May I stay and help?”
Lord Dunwitty fluttered his eyelashes at her. He was shameless, yet she couldn’t prevent her laugh. “Have you made many custards, my lord?”
“Not a one,” he admitted cheerfully. “But if you’ll permit me to stay, Miss St. Claire, I promise to make myself as useful as possible.”
“How do you propose to do that, then?” She cast him as stern a look as she could manage, but the twitch of her lips rather spoiled the effect.
“I could measure your ingredients for you. If I acquit myself well enough, then perhaps you’ll permit me to stir the custard. Will that do?”
She let out a heavy sigh. “I suppose it will have to, won’t it?”
“Wonderful!” He pulled one of the kitchen stools free of the table and sat down, giving her a grin that had no doubt charmed every young lady in London. “Perhaps later, you’ll consent to a walk through the grounds. You may show me all the secret nooks in Grantham’s gardens.”
“Certainly not, my lord.” She gave a haughty sniff. “I can’t wander about the grounds alone with you. We haven’t been introduced.”
“Of course, we have. Don’t you recall it? I am Viscount Dunwitty, and you are Miss St. Claire.”
“Properlyintroduced, my lord.”
“Oh, dear. Thatisa problem, isn’t it? Well then, once we’ve finished the custard, perhaps we might go in search of the Duchesses of Basingstoke and Montford. I’ll politely request a proper introduction to the lovely Miss St. Claire, and we’ll invite them to accompany us on our walk. I daresay they’ll agree, after such a long drive in the carriage. Will that do?”
There could be no objection to that, surely? “Very well, my lord. If Their Graces agree to join us, then I can’t see any reason why I should object.”
“Wonderful! Now, where shall we begin with the custard? This French brandy seems as promising a start as any.” He nodded appreciatively at the bottle. “I do adore a pudding made with French brandy.”
“We begin with boiling the water, my lord,” she replied primly.
“Oh.” He let out a glum sigh, cradling his chin in his hands. “That’s rather less exciting.”
She couldn’t help the laugh that bubbled from her lips. He was perfectly ridiculous, of course, but between the two friendly duchesses and lively Lord Dunwitty, perhaps this house party wouldn’t be as dreadful as she’d feared. “Don’t despair, my lord. If you’re very good, I’ll let you grate the nutmeg.”
