Chapter Two
Embarrassment flushed Olivia’s cheeks. She stared at the mess she’d made, some of it on the black wool waistcoat of his lordship, and thought she might be sick again.
Apparently Breckenridge thought so too, because he quickly pushed her back into a chair, grabbed the silver dome used earlier to cover her plate of baked eggs and toast, and, turning it over, pressed it into her lap like a bowl.
She accepted the handkerchief he held out to her but retained her possession of Alastair’s marker. Although she’d memorized the contents, she was not eager to part with it.
Olivia pressed the handkerchief against her mouth, blotted her lips, then offered it back. The gesture was refused.
“You may keep it,” Griffin said.
When Olivia glanced up a second time, she saw he had already removed his frock coat and was carefully unbuttoning his ruined waistcoat.
Once he’d shrugged out of it, he held it by the collar between his thumb and forefinger and carried it to the door.
He released the waistcoat, allowing it to fall in a heap on the floor, then rang for assistance.
Olivia’s embarrassment grew as she watched Breckenridge remove his stained chitterling and discard it on top of the waistcoat. She found a soupcon of comfort in the fact that she had missed his boots and trousers. He might very well have stripped to his linen and stockings if she had not.
“You should not have insisted that I eat,” she said, her tone more defensive than accusatory.
“You neglected to mention that you are unwell.”
“I am not unwell.”
Griffin cast a dubious glance in her direction. “Then it was your intention to serve me breakfast, I take it.”
She flushed. “Do not be ridiculous.” Leaning forward, Olivia placed the overturned cover carefully on the floor.
It tipped a bit to one side but its contents were not lost. She looked away and sat up slowly so that she would not be sick again.
“It gives me no pleasure to admit it, but the room simply tilted on its axis and I had no bearings. That is what made me ill.”
“Perhaps.”
“You don’t believe me?”
“On the contrary. As an explanation, though, it begs the question of what caused the room to tilt. I could advance my theory, but I will wait to hear what my physician thinks.”
“Physician?” It required considerable effort for Olivia to remain seated. “I do not think a physician is at all necessary.”
“Then it is a good thing you have no say in the matter.” Griffin gave her his back as he opened the door for the approach of his valet.
“Mason. Good man.” He stepped aside to permit his manservant’s entry.
“I’m afraid there’s been a bit of a—” Griffin was not certain how he wanted to describe it, so he merely pointed to the discarded items of clothing and allowed Mason a moment to make his own assessment.
“I see, sir. I’ll take care of it.” He made a sweep of the room with a glance that missed nothing, barely resting on either his lordship’s guest or the bits of vomitus on the Aubusson rug near her feet.
The overturned dish cover gave him brief pause, then he quickly moved to see that all else was in order.
“I’ll send one or two of the lads to make short work of the rest.” Stepping closer to Breckenridge, he made a discreet inquiry. “Is the lady still unwell?”
“All evidence to the contrary, she says she was never unwell in the first place.” Unlike his valet, Griffin did not set his voice at a pitch that could not be overheard. “She says the room tilted.”
“Foxed, then,” Mason said without inflection.
“I had not considered that.” Behind him, Griffin heard Olivia’s sharp intake of breath.
He smiled, but it was for Mason alone. “Send for Pettibone anyway and have someone prepare a room for our guest. It is a certainty that she will be with us for at least a few days, possibly as long as a fortnight.”
Mason’s rounded features showed the first hint of discomfort. “I feel I must remind you that there are no females among the staff here. You said you didn’t want—”
“Yes, yes. I recall what I said. God’s truth, but this is an inconvenience I have no liking for.” He glanced back at Olivia and asked somewhat impatiently, “Do you require your maid?”
Surprised in equal parts by his question and his tone, Olivia’s lips parted around an indrawn breath even as her chin came up. Neither action served to provide an answer.
Griffin plowed a hand through his hair, deepening the furrows. “It’s a certainty that she will require clothes and sundries. You may as well arrange for her maid to be brought here along with whatever—”
Now Olivia did come to her feet. “No!”
Although it was Griffin’s tendency to arch one dark eyebrow, the effect of Olivia’s outburst was to cause him to raise both.
If she continued in such a manner the effort required to restrain himself would likely exhaust him.
His look pinned her back, and while she did not sink into the chair she’d vacated, neither did she step away from it or voice a second protest. Watching her still, he spoke to his valet.
“The physician only for now. I will let you know about the other later.”
“Very good, my lord.” Mason stooped to pick up the clothing and backed out of the room, leaving a lingering impression that he was glad to do so.
Griffin waited until Mason’s steps receded before he advanced on Olivia.
He pointed to the chair at her back. “Sit.” While his voice made it clear he would brook no argument, he noticed that she was slow in complying.
He chose to believe it was the last vestige of her illness that made her so.
The thought that she would prove to be difficult at every turn was not one he wanted to entertain.
“I do not want you to bring my maid here,” Olivia said, staring at her hands.
“No one has ever accused me of being a slow top. I gathered that was what you meant when you said no.”
Olivia did not have to look up to know that he was still out of patience with her. “She would not manage herself well in your establishment.”
“She only has to manage you,” said Griffin. “I don’t care—” He stopped because in point of fact he did care. “Not manage herself well how? Speak plainly, Miss Cole, else I will put my own construction upon it.”
“It pains me to speak ill of her, but she is a gossip and engages in flirtations.” She could have added that Molly Dillon was barely adequate as a lady’s maid, but it seemed a harsh judgment and Breckenridge was sure to inquire why she hadn’t been dismissed already.
Olivia did not want to tell him that she simply hadn’t the heart for it.
It did not bear thinking what he would make of that aspect of her character.
“Dillon might prove to be an unsettling presence.”
That would make two of them, Griffin thought.
Bloody hell. “Very well. I will ask Truss to inquire after a more circumspect female, though where he will find one in this part of London is a mystery to me. It is my good fortune that it will be his problem. As butler, it falls on him to make those choices.”
“How convenient for you.”
Nothing in her tone suggested sarcasm, and Griffin allowed that she was able to make her point without it.
It was his unhappy observation that too often people were compelled to underscore their meaning with a certain heaviness of inflection, especially those of his acquaintance who mistook sarcasm for witticism.
He made a point to avoid their company as the comments from those impoverished minds failed to amuse him.
The door rattled, drawing his attention to it. “Enter!” A pair of lads from the kitchen hurried into the room. “So it fell to the two of you to manage this bit of business. You have must have sorely displeased Cook.”
They ducked their heads in unison and mumbled something about a meat pie as they set about wiping the floor and carrying off the dish cover.
The younger one, a boy of ten with a gap-toothed smile and a smudge of freckles and something else across his cheeks, politely asked Olivia to set her right foot forward.
“It’s just that I’m noticing a bit of muck here, miss. Don’t want you bothered by it later.”
Olivia raised her hem just enough that she could see what he did. Cheeks flaming, she pushed the foot forward as he’d asked. It was quickly wiped clean.
“Thank you, miss.” The gap-toothed grin was gone as he made a last swipe at the floor and folded his large rag around the offending bits of egg and toast. He took a brush from the water pail he’d carried in and just as efficiently dealt with the stain on the carpet.
“Like it never happened,” he said. “Once the water dries, that is.” He turned his shoulder so Breckenridge could cast a glance at the spot. “Is it all right by you, m’lord?”
“It is.” Griffin tipped his head toward the door. “Go on. Both of you. Leave the teapot, though. And both cups. Take the rest.”
The second lad pushed his tongue to the corner of his mouth as he carefully balanced the tray while removing the delicate teapot and china.
That little pink tongue disappeared once he’d accomplished the task.
He bobbed his flaxen head in acknowledgment of his dismissal and hurried to follow his compatriot into the hallway.
Olivia thought she spied a hint of amusement in the shape of Breckenridge’s mouth.
She couldn’t be certain as she only caught it in profile as the boys were taking hasty leave of him.
The speed of their retreat probably had something to do with the stolen meat pie, but whether they were hurrying away from his lordship’s discipline or racing for the pie while it was still warm was something Olivia did not expect that she would ever know.
Griffin returned to the chair behind his desk and lifted his teacup. “I would consider it a rare piece of luck in this morning’s work if we were not visited by another interruption until the physician arrives.”