Chapter 23
In Which Coffee Is Taken, Yet More Tea Is Spilled; And an Invitation Is Issued …
Mina tried to hide a yawn behind her hand as Mrs. Dunkley, Lord Kinsale’s cook, deposited a fresh pot of coffee in front of her.
She was sitting at the oak kitchen table, trying not to fall asleep while simultaneously trying not to remember the exquisite kisses she’d shared with her employer, right up against the kitchen door that stood directly across from her.
Had it only been six hours since she’d shared an amorous tryst with Lord Kinsale? No, a “kissing lesson” Mina reminded herself as she pulled a newspaper toward her. It was The Illustrated London News.
“Thank you for the coffee,” she said to the cook as she carefully refilled her cup.
“No worries at all, pet,” said Mrs. Dunkley, crossing over to the larder.
“I know ’ow ’ard it is keepin’ up wiv those boys you’ve got to look after.
” She nodded at the mantel clock. “When did Lord Kinsale say they’d be back from ’Yde Park again?
I’ll try to time the bakin’ o’ me scones so they’re nice an’ warm an’ fresh when the master walks in the door wiv those two young scallywags.
” She emitted a laugh as she returned to the table, her sturdy arms laden with ingredients: flour, baking powder, butter, and a jug of milk.
“I fought Lord Kinsale and Brutus were ’ard to fill up.
But lawks-a-mercy, ain’t that Tom Fleet a bottomless pit an’ a ’alf?
If Lord Kinsale ’adn’t told me first fing this mornin’ tha’ ’e were the one ’oo got stuck into me Victoria sponge last night, I would’ve fought it were young Master Tom. ”
Mina’s cheeks warmed. The marquess was the most noble man alive, she was certain of it. Aloud she said, “Tom does have a healthy appetite. But to answer your first question, I believe Lord Kinsale will be back around half past ten. Or thereabouts.”
“Excellent,” said the cook, depositing a rolling pin, a wooden spoon, and a large china mixing bowl on the table. “Let’s get this scone makin’ underway.”
While Mrs. Dunkley got on with her baking, Mina perused the broadsheet in front of her.
She’d already been through the Times and various other papers that were issued in the morning.
But she’d found nothing in their pages about Sir Bedivere Ponsonby or his missing ward, Lord Fitzwilliam. Thank the Fae.
She didn’t regret her visit to Fitzwilliam House, dangerous though it was.
Not only had she gleaned valuable intelligence about what the baronet was up to, when Christopher had seen the items she’d collected from his old bedroom—his much-loved toys and books and favorite items of clothing—his blue eyes had immediately brightened with delight.
She hoped they would bring him some degree of solace.
And hopefully his bad dreams would go away.
Of course, when Lord Kinsale had appeared in the small parlor adjoining the schoolroom where the boys were taking their breakfast and eight o’clock, as was their usual custom, she’d been at sixes and sevens.
Part of her was flustered because it had only been a handful of hours since the marquess had held her in his arms. But part of her had been delighted by the undoubtedly foolish notion that the marquess hadn’t been able to resist seeing her again.
That no sooner had he risen from his bed he’d been simply champing at the bit to seek her out.
Although, it turned out that Lord Kinsale was simply being kind; he’d proposed taking the boys, along with Brutus, for a jaunt about Hyde Park in a new light carriage—a phaeton—he’d recently purchased.
His friend, Lord Hartwell, was going to teach him how to drive it.
“Christopher and Tom will both be per-perfectly safe,” he said.
“Christopher shall sit beside me and Tom can take the seat at the back.”
“Wicked!” Christopher cried.
“’Ooray!” added Tom.
Mina, who could barely keep her eyes open—her mind had been so abuzz, she’d barely slept a wink even after she’d collapsed into her bed—had not had the stamina to protest. “Very well,” she said.
Looking at Christopher, she added, “As long as you wear your sailor hat.” She’d surmised that the large brim would sufficiently shield his face while he was out and about.
And of course, her mother had cut his long blond curls.
The child wouldn’t be easily recognizable.
Besides, it sounded like Sir Bedivere’s detective, Cheavers, and his men were mainly on the lookout for Miss Hermina Davenport.
Christopher agreed to Mina’s request with an exaggerated sigh. “All right.”
“I ain’t wearin’ no sailor hat,” Tom declared. “But I’ll wear me cap.”
Mina had given a nod of approval. “I’ll also look after Mr. Hopwell,” she said to Christopher.
Cheavers was aware that little Lord Fitzwilliam had a toy purple rabbit—he’d mentioned it when he’d visited Rose Cottage a month ago—so exercising additional care right now was essential.
Indeed, since the Hatchards excursion, when Mina had spied Sir Bedivere on Piccadilly, she’d made it a rule that Mr. Hopwell must stay at home.
Spoilsport, Brutus had grumbled from the doorway. He’d accompanied his master upstairs too.
Considering your attitude last night, Mr. Brutus, what did you expect? rejoined Mina. Pugs who constantly threaten to tear apart toy rabbits are not to be trusted.
Brutus, being the cantankerous little beastie that he was, had of course retaliated with the dropping of a malodorous “bomb” that made Lord Kinsale curse and the boys laugh and all Mina could do was dab at her watering eyes.
Mina had just finished perusing The Illustrated London News—like all the other papers, not a word had been mentioned about Sir Bedivere or Lord Fitzwilliam or Mina herself (thank goodness)—when Smedley stalked into the room.
He sent her a narrow look. “Don’t you have better things to do than lazing about, drinking coffee, and reading his lordship’s newspapers?” the horrid butler sniped. “Don’t you have lessons to plan and pencils to sharpen and chalkboards to clean?”
Mina only just managed to suppress a rebellious eyeroll. “I’m keeping up with current affairs,” she said. “According to the Parasol Academy Handbook, a good governess is always well-informed.”
“A good governess knows her place,” returned Smedley with a superior look. “I strongly suggest you visit Mrs. Aldershot in her study. She’s sure to find some sort of gainful employment to occupy you until your charges return. You know what they say about idle hands …”
Mina plastered a false smile on her face.
“As soon as I’ve finished my coffee I’ll drop by,” she said brightly.
A lie of course. She had no intention of visiting the housekeeper.
The woman would no doubt make her sweep out the coal cellar or wash the outside of the windows on the townhouse’s uppermost floor.
(She could easily manage such a task with a sturdy enough rope and a grappling hook, but perhaps not on less than four hours of restless sleep.)
Smedley slunk away—probably to his lair, the butler’s pantry—and Mina breathed a sigh of relief. A minute later, Lord Kinsale’s valet, Frobisher, entered the kitchen and greeted her with a smile. He was in search of coffee too.
After helping himself to a cup, he took a seat beside Mina.
“Pardon me for saying so, but you’re looking rather tired this morning, Miss Davenport,” he murmured in a conspiratorial fashion by her ear when Mrs. Dunkley was fussing about with the oven and one of the maids had disappeared into the scullery to wash up the used bowl and rolling pin.
“So was Lord Kinsale. And even though you’re sure to deny it, I heard you both on the stairs heading for the second floor with young Master Fleet at half past two in the morning. ”
Mina’s cheeks burned. She’d forgotten that the valet’s bedroom was not far from his master’s suite.
But at least Frobisher wasn’t aware that she and Lord Kinsale had then sneaked downstairs for tea and cake …
and kisses. “Honestly, I really don’t know what you’re talking about, Mr. Frobisher,” she said primly.
“And even if I did, my lips would be sealed. A governess is always discreet when it comes to matters concerning her employer.”
The dark-haired valet nudged her arm and smirked.
“Ha! That tells me all I need to know. Late night shenanigans with the master—I love the idea and I’m absolutely in your corner, Miss Davenport.
” He dropped his voice and whispered, “Your secret is safe with me. I’ll even pinky swear to it if you want me to. ”
Mina’s face was positively on fire now. “That won’t be necessary,” she murmured. “I trust you.”
And Mina did indeed. Frobisher had become an unexpected ally since the “bathrobe incident” when she’d visited the marquess’s sitting room just as he’d emerged from his bath.
Frobisher had laid the blame for the embarrassing, bordering-on-scandalous encounter squarely at the feet of the uppity Mr. Travers, the Savile Row tailor.
In fact, Frobisher—who was always immaculately dressed and quite knowledgeable about haute couture—had since convinced Lord Kinsale to engage another tailor who would tut-tut less about his supposedly “far-too-muscular, virtually-impossible-to-cater-for” frame.
“Just because Lord Kinsale is built like Hercules, it does not mean he’s difficult to dress,” Frobisher had once declared to Mina.
“The man is a god, and any tailor who’s worth his salt should be able to make the marquess look like one without complaining about his bulky biceps.
” From what Mina had seen of Lord Kinsale’s impressive physique, she was very much inclined to agree.
The valet had also confided to Mina in quiet moments that most of the staff liked Lord Kinsale but couldn’t stand Smedley or Mrs. Aldershot. In fact, below stairs, the butler was often referred to as “Meddley Smedley” and the housekeeper had earned the moniker of “Alderot.”
Talk turned to far more mundane subjects and soon the scullery maid and Mrs. Dunkley had joined the conversation.
At ten o’clock, as Mina was contemplating the idea of drifting upstairs to the schoolroom—she was now quite buzzingly awake after drinking three large cups of very strong coffee—one of the footmen walked in with a note for her.
“Oooh, who’s sending you mysterious missives on such fancy parchment paper?” said Frobisher, waggling his eyebrows suggestively. “Does the lovely Miss Davenport have a secret admirer?”
Mina laughed and she was about to say, “Hardly,” when the footman declared, “It’s from the Duchess of St Lawrence accordin’ to the liveried footman ’oo delivered it. ’E said I must ’and it to Miss Davenport ’erself. In fact ’e won’t leave until ’e ’as an answer.”
Mina took the note from the footman, and sure enough the paper was the gilt-edged stationery of the Duchess of St Lawrence, sealed shut with red wax that contained an impression of her personal seal: a coat of arms featuring cherry blossoms, a key (that looked remarkably like a leyport key), and a clock-face.
“Well, go on. Open it,” urged Frobisher. “You mustn’t keep a duchess waiting.”
Mina cracked the seal and folded open the parchment. It was indeed a message from darling Emmeline announcing that at long last, she’d returned to London!
Mina hugged the note to her chest. “You may tell Her Grace’s footman that all going well, I will be at St Lawrence House at three o’clock for afternoon tea.”
The scullery maid squealed while Mrs. Dunkley fanned herself with her apron and murmured, “Lawks-a-mercy.”
Frobisher was grinning knowingly. “I always suspected that you knew people in high places, Miss Davenport. You have that ‘refined’ sort of look about you. No wonder Meddley Smedley and Alderot are secretly scared of you.”
Mina gave a shocked laugh. “Scared of me? You must be joking. I’m just the governess.”
“Oh no, I’m not joking,” replied the valet. “They absolutely know that you have the master’s ear. You say the word”—he snapped his fingers—“his lordship will sack them on the spot.”
Mina frowned. “Then why are they so horrid to me and everyone else? And disrespectful to Lord Kinsale?”
Mrs. Dunkley’s mouth twisted with a wry smile.
“Tha’ sort don’t know any different, pet.
Right bullies they are. They fink that if they browbeat all of us enough, we’ll be too afraid to say anyfink.
And everyone knows ’is lordship is just a big squishy teddy bear underneaf all his beefy Irish brawn.
But you’re too clever and forthright to put up wiv that sort o’ rubbish.
An’ you’re not afraid to give as good as you get.
That’s why everyone on staff likes you ’ere.
Well, everyone except for them two.” The cook gestured at the closed kitchen door and the corridor beyond, which led to the butler’s and housekeeper’s domain.
Well, that certainly gave Mina food for thought. But she didn’t have time to dwell on the implications of what Frobisher and Mrs. Dunkley had just disclosed. She had to put plans into action in order to see Emmeline!
As soon as Lord Kinsale returned from his excursion to Hyde Park, she’d ask for the afternoon off to see her dear friend.
She was certain he wouldn’t say no. At least she hoped he wouldn’t.
It had been three weeks since she’d begun working at Kinsale House, and she hadn’t yet spoken to the marquess about taking any time off.
And she so badly needed a friend to confide in about everything—from “kidnapping” Lord Fitzwilliam, to deceiving Mrs. Temple and Lord Kinsale.
And of course, her foolish infatuation with her employer and their ill-advised “kissing lesson” last night.
It was certain to be a long afternoon tea.