snobbery both amused and revolted him. “And why should I want to marry you?”
“You must be joking. I’m the daughter of a peer.”
“You can also be a crick in the neck.”
“True, but you’re a philistine.” She laughed. “We’ve been dancing around an agreement for weeks, so since we’re being honest, let’s face facts. An alliance between us is a most sensible option. You have everything except a family to carry on your name and eventually squabble over the fortune you’ve amassed. I, thanks to my father’s missteps, am in need of...protection, shall we say. We understand each other and get on well most of the time. You can help my family, and I can open doors for you that your background prohibits you from entering on your own.”
“You assume I want to cross those lofty thresholds.”
She frowned as though she’d never heard such a ridiculous notion. “Of course you do, Sam. You don’t have to pretend with me. Everyone, even those who deny it, want to be part of the crème de la crème.”
“I don’t lack for invitations as it is.”
“Yes, however, these invitations will be from people who matter, not those boorish tradesmen or stuffy politicians with whom you usually conspire. All I ask is that you contemplate the possibilities. Imagine I’m a new stock and consider your potential rate of return.”
He already had. The Ratners’ decline in circumstances may be recent, but their title and mortgaged properties were centuries old. To a man whose own roots went no deeper than the day of his birth, buying a branch on the Ratners’ lauded family tree held a certain appeal.
Best of all, he wasn’t in any danger of falling in love with Amelia, nor did she expect him to. Their union would be little more than a mutually beneficial business arrangement. No deep emotions to make him feel helpless or dependent on anyone but himself for happiness.
“I’m always calculating variables.”
“Brilliant.” Voices passing in the corridor drew Amelia’s attention. “I’d best see to the dining room before our guests descend. Everything must be perfect tonight.”
“Speaking of variables—” he opened the door to help usher her out “—something popped up today and we’re short a footman this evening.”
Amelia paled. “How can that be?”
“I’ve made other arrangements with Hodges.”
“That old fossil you call a butler should have been put out to pasture a decade ago. I gave him strict instructions to send word to me if the slightest mishap occurred.”
He refrained from mentioning that Hodges had been in a dither himself when he’d informed the older man that he’d given Frank the night off and that Rose would fill his position.
“I can’t believe this is happening,” she moaned. “I’ve planned every detail and now all is ruined!”
“Hardly. A kitchen maid has already been found to replace him.”
“One of the maids?” Amelia’s hand fluttered to her chest as though she might faint. “I’m aware you’re not fully educated in these matters, but a woman serving...are you mad? That will never do.”
Amused by her dramatics, he wondered vaguely if there were any smelling salts on hand just in case she keeled over. “It’s already been decided.”
“I’ll send for one of ours—”
“There’s no time.” The first muffled notes of a violin being tuned bolstered his point. He led her to the door. “We’ll have to make due. You are the one interested in all the latest fashions. Perhaps we’ll usher in a new one.”
Chapter Three
Once free of Sam’s study, Rose followed the footman into the servants’ stairway. Shaking uncontrollably, she reached toward the wall for support as she made her way down the steps.
In the kitchen, the chaos before a dinner party was a situation with which she was well acquainted. Already at a fever pitch from her confrontation with Sam, her senses seemed unusually sensitive to the clamor of voices, banging pots and the aroma of roasted meats and exotic spices.
“Miss Smith?” An aged man with a bald pate ringed by gray hair called from the doorway. “Miss Rose Smith?”
“Yes, sir.” She made quick strides across the room. The man’s formal ensemble and somber mood marked him as the butler. With trepidation, she wondered what she’d done to be called out by the likes of him when it was the housekeeper’s duty to oversee female staff. “I’m Rose Smith.”
“I’m Mr. Hodges, Mr. Blackstone’s butler. Robert tells me the other girl on loan tonight suffered an accident on the journey here.”
“Yes, sir.”
Mr. Hodges’s bushy, gray eyebrows pleated together into a straight line. His faded green eyes peered at her through thick spectacles, sizing her up from head to toe. His sigh of exasperation didn’t speak well of his impression of her. “Follow me.”
He led her to a small, oak-paneled office at the end of the corridor and motioned toward a mirror in the corner. “Have you seen yourself? You look as though you’ve been dragged by a runaway mount. How in the world am I to make you presentable in time?”
“In time for what, sir?” she asked, mortified by how mussed and messy she looked compared to the radiant Miss Ratner.
“Mr. Blackstone insists you serve tonight.”
Dismay choked her. “Me in the dining room? But I work in the kitchen.”
“He doesn’t care. He wants you.”
He wants to humiliate me, more like. He no longer loved her and intended to hammer home the point. There was no other reason to toss convention to the four winds just to have her wait on him and his self-important friends. She didn’t remember Sam being such a vindictive swine, but apparently nine years in London had hardened his heart to granite. That ruthless quality terrified her.
“Stay here,” Hodges said. “I’ll have one of the other girls fetch you a cap and something more acceptable to wear.”
Left alone with her untidy reflection, she longed to return to Devonshire and Hopewell Manor. She’d never been this far from Andrew, and her arms ached to hold her son. Exhaustion pressed in on her and hunger pangs cramped her stomach. The entire day had been one foul kettle of fish after another with the worst being the superior way Sam looked down his nose at her. The more she thought about how he’d ambushed her, the more indignant she became. He’d had no right to call her on the carpet, berate her and deny her the chance to explain. Who did he think he was? A pompous nobleman?
And yet...he had returned to Ashby Croft to collect her as he’d promised. He must have done or he wouldn’t have known about Harry. Regret pierced her like a thousand knives. If only she’d found the strength to wait for him a little longer.
The knowledge they were both to blame for losing one another
