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She shrugged. “She was so improper before. I thought she could use the set down.” She frowned. “I didn’t intend for you to take the blame.”

“Arabella…” Freddie ran a hand through his hair. “She could have been sacked.”

Ari nodded. “I’m sorry.”

Pippy gathered up the feeders. “We’ll speak with Mrs. Jannet on our way to hang these up.” She put everything in the bowl. “And we can return this as well.” She glanced at Ari. “We’ll set everything to rights, will we not?”

Ari nodded.

As they walked down the back stairs, Ari moved up beside her. “I’m sorry, Pippy. I didn’t mean⁠—”

Pippy wrapped her arm around the girl. “I know you didn’t mean for it to happen as it did, Ari. But even if I chose not to take the blame, it wasn’t right.”

Ari looked at the floor and simply nodded.

Twenty-Three

Freddie tugged on his tailcoat as his valet brushed at his sleeves and back. Lint did not stand a chance against Simpson.

He sighed. The house party was nearly at an end. At last! They’d attend the Twelfth Night ball and then set off for Somerset the day after tomorrow. Finally, he and Pippy would return home. It was both an odd and familiar feeling.

How could it feel so familiar when Pippy had never seen his home—their home? He frowned. Was he the only one to feel that way? Perhaps she would be more comfortable returning to London. He supposed they could decide that tomorrow.

“Will you require anything else, my lord?” Simpson asked as he stepped back and swept his gaze over Freddie’s form. He made another swipe of the brush across the lapel of Freddie’s superfine.

Freddie tipped his head this way and that. “No, Simpson, I believe that’s all. Enjoy your evening.”

“Thank you, my lord.” Simpson gathered up the discarded clothing and disappeared.

Because of their peculiar situation, Freddie left the bedroom for Pippy to use while he readied himself in the dressing room. Obviously, Simpson went somewhere while he waited for Freddie and Pippy to leave, but Freddie had no notion where that was.

He picked up a small wrapped package from atop their stacked trunks and moved down the small servant’s entrance that led from the dressing room to the main corridor, then pushed into their sitting room. He’d wait for Pippy there.

He tapped the package against his hand, his leg bouncing.

The bedchamber door opened, and Pippy stepped out looking…words had not been created to describe how she looked. Radiant? Handsome? None of them were right. Perhaps that’s because they only captured her surface beauty, and not the beauty he knew she held within. Whatever the word was, Pippy personified it.

She looked down the front of her dress, smoothing invisible wrinkles. “Is there something wrong with my gown?”

Freddie smiled. “There’s nothing wrong. You look lovely, my—” Lud! He should just say it. If he couldn’t say it before the Twelfth Night ball, when would he? But what if she asked him not to say such things? What if she said she did not feel the same way? What would he do for the whole of the evening? Thunder and turf, what would he do while they traveled home for the next week? For the rest of his life?

He coughed to cover his pause. “Dear,” he said as he put a hand to his chest.

She watched him closely. Too closely. Did she know his thoughts? “You’ve not caught a cold, have you?”

He shook his head. “No. I simply had a tickle in my throat.” He looked down at the floor.

“That is oft how it begins.” She moved over to him and put a hand to his head. “If you do not feel well enough to attend⁠—”

He reached up and took her hand off his face—regrettable, but necessary—holding it in his own. “I’m well, I promise.” He held up the package to her, only in part to change the subject.

She took it and gave him a sidelong look. “What is this for?”

He shrugged. “It’s not uncommon to give gifts for Twelfth Night.”

She ran her fingers over the fold in the paper. “But I have nothing to give you.”

He shook his head. “You’ve already given me all I need.”