Chapter One #3
“And I shall get to those almonds.” Felicity busied herself with setting the egg coddler aside and clearing away Lord Wakefield’s plates.
She needed to be helpful. Just as she had promised.
It didn’t matter that she didn’t possess the courage to run after the earl and tell him who she really was.
No matter how badly she wanted to, she just couldn’t bear to see the truth in his kind eyes when he discovered that the kitchen maid who had cooked his eggs was really a plump wallflower, sister of a duke, and worth a hefty dowry.
His ode to the fair maiden who had coddled his eggs would change to a sonnet dedicated to gold.
It would be crushing indeed to discover him to be a silver-tongued devil looking for coin rather than the pleasure of her company.
She crushed the blanched almonds in a stone mortar and added a little rosewater to keep their oils from separating. But try as she might, she couldn’t keep her mind on her work. Lord Wakefield’s kind eyes and that infernal poem filled her thoughts, making her wish…
She shook her head. “Silliness,” she said under her breath as she added the sugar and ground the paste even more. “Do we want pretty little square cakes or shall I shape them into fruits?”
“Little square cakes be fine,” Mrs. Amesbury said, then shook a finger at her.
“And then you wash your hands and be getting yourself back out there and finding your earl. Please, my lady. Do it for us. It will give the footmen something exciting to share at the table tonight when we all sit down to our supper.”
“He is not my earl.”
“Seems to me the man would follow you to the ends of the earth for your coddled eggs,” Marcie said as she filled another tray with raw rout cake dough.
“He was hungry. A famished man will follow anyone for food. They are much like dogs.”
“Felicity Bethianna Jasmine Abarough!”
Felicity cringed. Serendipity had such a powerful way of saying her name. Just like Mama had the time Felicity caused quite a fire in the kitchen and nearly burned down the townhouse.
She turned and smiled at her sister standing in the doorway. “Yes?”
The high color to Serendipity’s cheeks and her pinched expression spoke volumes. “We need to return to the festivities, sister.” She spat the words like a hissing cat.
Felicity sighed. This battle was lost, and she didn’t wish to get Mrs. Amesbury or Marcie into trouble with Lady Atterley. She wiped her hands clean, removed her apron, and carefully folded it back into the tidy little bundle that fit inside her reticule.
“Where are your gloves?” Serendipity reached for the apron, but Felicity refused to let her take it.
“They are in my reticule. Give me a moment, Seri. What is your hurry?”
“The party misses you, sister. Gentlemen are lining up to fill your dance card.”
Felicity huffed as she pulled on her gloves, stuffed the apron back inside her bag, and cinched it shut. “Mama would not approve of your lying.”
“Mama also would not approve of your hiding.”
“It is not really hiding when you always know where I am, now, is it?” Felicity refrained from smirking, knowing it would incense her sister even more. “I was out there for dinner and quite a while afterward, and not a single gentleman spoke to me other than Lord Smellington, the Marquess of Debt.”
Marcie snorted, and Mrs. Amesbury shooed her into the pantry. “Beg pardon,” the cook said before following the maid and closing the door behind them.
“The new Earl of Wakefield finally arrived,” Serendipity said.
“You have yet to meet him, and dare I say, he is quite the handsome fellow. His uncle, the sixth earl, was an enormous cod’s head when it came to understanding the dangers of gambling, but I have yet to discover anything ill about the seventh.
He is reported to have come from landed gentry and was quite successful in his own right. ”
Felicity nearly choked on the butterflies that immediately left her stomach and flew up into her throat.
She could not enlighten Lord Wakefield about her true identity tonight.
While she understood it was inevitable, she simply wasn’t ready at this moment.
But how on earth could she escape it? Serendipity seemed overly determined to oust her from her hiding place.
So much so that Felicity doubted that an excuse of feeling unwell would be accepted.
Then it came to mind: a wardrobe mishap.
An impossible-to-deny excuse. After all, it wasn’t as though she hadn’t strained a few seams in the past. Madame Couire, their modiste for many years, would attest to that.
She took as deep a breath as her corset allowed, doing her best to expand her ribcage to epic proportions.
The bodice of her pale-pink gown was already snugger than she liked.
With just enough twisting as she bent to retrieve her accidentally dropped reticule, the softest ripping sound was music to her ears.
She caught her side and straightened. “Oh dear.”
“Oh, Felli.” Serendipity groaned. “Not again?”
Keeping the split seam modestly covered with one hand, Felicity shrugged. “I am afraid so. Might I trouble you to fetch my shawl? Then I shall wait in the carriage while you gather everyone else.”
“You did that on purpose,” Serendipity accused.
“I would never,” Felicity lied, assuming a most convincing innocence.
Her sister blew out a heavy sigh. “Wait here. I shall return momentarily with your shawl.”
As Serendipity left the kitchen, Felicity didn’t dare look toward the pantry in case Mrs. Amesbury or Marcie were peeping out the door. Their disapproving glares had already burned like fire. It couldn’t be helped. She would officially meet the eloquent earl at another time, just not today.