An Earl For The Shy Widow. Ann Lethbridge

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СКАЧАТЬ eyes twinkled. ‘My family says I take after her.’

      Lady Marguerite shook her head fondly at her sister. ‘You are not stubborn, my dear, unless you do not get your own way.’

      Both ladies laughed. Once again Ethan was struck by the younger sister’s angelic beauty. Her laughter was a sweet light sound and her eyes gleamed with mischief. She was the sort of woman who stood out in a crowd and drew every man’s eye when she smiled. The sort of woman who would lead a less sensible man a merry dance.

      His suspicions about her having an ulterior motive returned in full force. He really should have declined this invitation. He certainly did not want to create any false impressions or hopes.

      Lady Marguerite continued the story. ‘It wasn’t until the Stewarts were gone that our family wormed their way back into the good graces of the royals and were granted the property in Gloucestershire. Danesbury is where Westram has his seat now.’

      ‘Yet you choose to live here in Kent?’

      ‘Yes,’ Lady Marguerite said, lifting her chin as if she expected him to take issue with her words. ‘We like our independence.’

      Lady Petra nodded her agreement.

      Perhaps he was misjudging her motives after all.

      The maid peeped in. ‘Lady Marguerite, I am to tell you dinner is served.’

      ‘Thank you, Becky,’ she said, standing.

      ‘May I?’ Ethan offered both ladies an arm. He escorted them into a small dining room overlooking the garden at the back of the house. The French doors were wide open, admitting a light breeze along with the scent of roses.

      He seated the ladies and then took a chair. ‘Your garden is beautiful,’ he said.

      ‘That is Petra’s doing,’ Lady Marguerite said. ‘She has a talent for making things grow.’

      Lady Petra smiled. ‘I have always had an interest in plants. How about you, Lord Longhurst?’

      He grimaced. ‘I enjoy eating what the land produces, my lady, but my knowledge beyond that is severely limited. But not for long, I hope.’

      The little maid carried in an assortment of dishes, including a magnificent roast of beef, assorted vegetables and puddings.

      Having carved the roast and made sure each lady’s plate was full, Ethan got down to eating his own meal with a will. Food like this had not been coming his way recently.

      The conversation, led by Lady Marguerite, revolved around the weather, the need for a church roof and some information about other families in the neighbourhood.

      Finally, Ethan, put down his knife and fork. ‘That was the best meal I have had in months, if not years.’

      Lady Marguerite looked pleased. ‘Surely you exaggerate, my lord.’

      ‘Not at all. Everything was cooked to perfection. Your chef is to be complimented.’

      ‘Actually, she is not our cook,’ Lady Petra said. ‘We hired her for the day.’

      He frowned. ‘Do cooks hire themselves out by the day?’

      ‘Not as a general rule, but she is looking for a permanent post near to Westram. We do not need a full-time cook, unfortunately.’

      Everyone needed a full-time cook if they could afford one. Again, his irritation at Westram’s niggardliness with his sisters raised its head. But it was none of his business. Indeed, he had no idea why he would care.

      ‘Perhaps you would like to hire her,’ Lady Petra suggested idly. Too idly. He narrowed his eyes on her face. Why was she so interested in his household arrangements? The sort of arrangements that would normally be within a wife’s purview. Was she seeing herself in that role? No doubt she thought an earl would be a very good catch.

      Even so, the thought of having meals like this on a regular basis was so tempting as to make Ethan’s mouth water.

      ‘Are you sure I would not be depriving you of her services, if I hired her?’

      ‘Oh, no,’ Lady Petra said airily. ‘Becky manages our everyday needs and, since we rarely entertain, we do not have need of a cook. Mrs Stone comes highly recommended. Indeed, she used to work at Longhurst Park years ago, so she should fit right in. And it would mean she could live at home with her family.’

      The lady did protest too much. He frowned. ‘Did you invite me to dinner so I might be convinced to hire this woman?’

      Lady Marguerite looked embarrassed.

      ‘Is it so terrible?’ Lady Petra asked. ‘Is it not our duty to help our neighbours and friends? Besides, what better way to know if she will suit than to sample her skills?’

      She looked a little disgruntled. What? Had she not expected him to see through her ploy? Was she like so many others, including his father, who thought him lacking in intelligence because of his size?

      Indeed, he also felt a little disgruntled. He had thought—well, perhaps vaguely hoped—she had invited him because she valued his company, but it seemed that it had been an attempt to manipulate him into hiring a cook. A very fine cook, to be sure, but he did not intend to be manipulated by any woman ever again, especially after his lucky escape from Sarah.

      The maid entered with a tray containing desserts. A fruit compote, an apple pie and a lemon mousse. Everyone served themselves. Ethan partook of the pie and a little of the mousse.

      Any idea of resistance immediately disappeared. Mentally he shook his head at what he knew would next be coming out of his mouth. Complete and utter surrender. ‘Ask the cook to report for duty as soon as she is able.’

      Both ladies seemed happy with his pronouncement, Lady Petra exceedingly so, blast the woman. O’Cleary would be delighted in the extreme. Ethan, however, could not quite shake his earlier sense of being ambushed once again.

      From now on it would be best if he avoided Lady Petra completely.

       Chapter Four

      As was their usual wont on a Thursday, Petra and Marguerite walked to the village of Westram. Their first stop was the post office.

      ‘Quite a few letters for you today, Lady Marguerite,’ Mr Barker, the postmaster, said. ‘And one for you, Lady Petra. Franked, they are.’ He beamed, his red wrinkled cheeks looking like apples left too long in the sun.

      All the letters had been franked by Westram or by Lord Avery’s father—a duke, no less. Their connections to the nobility seemed to thrill Mr Barker, as if somehow the more noble the frank, the higher it lifted those who lived in the village.

      ‘Thank you, Barker,’ Marguerite said, stuffing the letters into her reticule after a glance at the sender’s name and address.

      ‘One is from Lord Westram,’ Mr Barker said. ‘Will he be visiting you any time soon?’

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