Page 15

Before she had an opportunity to summon a suitable response or become vexed at his high-handed methods, he’d bustled her straight to the beaming butler.

“Wynby, this is Miss Eglantina Haverden. She prefers Miss Eden. She graciously offered me a ride home when my horse went lame in Newbury. But as you’ve probably already surmised, we had a bit of a mishap. The old bridge gave way, she nearly drowned, and we’re both nigh on to freezing.”

Not exactly true. Part of the bridge had collapsed, and in her ungainliness, she had tumbled into the brook.

“I should say so, sir. That span has been a worry for some time now. Not to fret. We’ll have baths prepared at once. Dinner isn’t until seven, so you’ve plenty of time to bathe and dress. Your trunks arrived two days ago, and your valet has already unpacked them.” Pressing his palms together, the middle-aged servant practically bounced in his excitement. “Cook has prepared a treat for you. Beef Wellington and trifle.”

You’d have thought he’d announced the Prince Regent was to dine with them, such was his proud satisfaction.

“See,” Lord Sterling whispered in her ear. “Nothing flusters the unflappable Wynby. We could have arrived naked as cherubs, and he wouldn’t have blinked.”

When he said naked, she flashed hot and cold. Or maybe it was his warm breath caressing her ear that caused the onslaught.

Whatever was wrong with her?

For certain, a fever couldn’t have set in yet. Could it have?

“The young lady will have to wear something belonging to one of the maids.” Eyeing Eden up and down, concern pinched the butler’s full mouth. “I apologize, Miss Eden. No offense is intended, I promise you. There are simply no other females in the household.”

No others? Not even a housekeeper or cook?

She closed her eyes and swallowed. What had she gotten herself into? If word got out . . .

“Mrs. Gibbs and Mrs. Lackman are no longer at Perygrim?”

So, Lord Sterling hadn’t been aware either?

Wynby shook his head.

His lordship brushed his crooked forefinger along his upper lip, the causal movement at odds with the thoughtful sternness in his eyes.

“They retired within a month of each other last year, my lord, and went to live with their daughters. We haven’t had a housekeeper since, but Monsieur Fournier took Cook’s position. He is French.”

That stiff-lipped pronouncement said much.

She had no choice. To stay was to invite ruin, and when you were already outside of propriety’s boundaries, that wasn’t a risk to take lightly.

“Lord Sterling, though I do appreciate your noble intentions, my reputation will be in shreds should I stay the night without a female companion.”

Not to mention what the gossip would do to Mama if she heard it.

More on point and of equal concern was Simon. What if he got wind of her imprudence? He’d be in a right high dudgeon.

“Forgive my boldness, but I’m sure one of the downstairs maids wouldn’t mind sharing your chamber and acting the part of a chaperone,” Wynby offered. “The rose bedchamber has a divan the maid can sleep on, and the room locks from within.”

“Is that satisfactory?” His lordship searched her face, worry tautening his already angular features. “I fear your health will suffer if you remain in those wet clothes.”

As did she.

Eden was a woman full grown after all—on the shelf, truth be told—and quite capable of making rational decisions. It wasn’t as if she was spending the night in a house of ill-repute. She hurt all over, and a merciless cadence ticked between her temples.

Pulling Lord Sterling’s greatcoat more securely about her shoulders, she tried to ignore the rivulets running down her neck and under the collar.

“That is more than satisfactory. All I require is something to sleep in. I’ll lay my clothes out to dry, so no one needs to trouble with them on my behalf.”

From the cart, Mr. Wiggles gave a worried woof.

Poor dear. He was just as wet and miserable.