“Of course not.”
“Good.” He leaned in and kissed her cheek. “Then stick with me instead and avoid Mr. Townsbridge.”
It was sound advice, so Eloise nodded and handed Matt the serving dish she’d prepared. “This is ready to be taken upstairs.”
He winked at her and headed off. Eloise paused for a moment to ponder his words. Mr. Townsbridge was both handsome and charming. It was only natural for her to respond toward him as she did. But with every additional encounter, the risk of her developing feelings for him would increase, and Matt’s prediction of where that could lead was nothing short of terrifying.
Determined to keep both feet firmly planted on solid ground, Eloise told herself to forget about Mr. Townsbridge this instant. She had lunch and dinner to prepare – tasks that were sure to keep her fully occupied for the rest of the day.
ONE WOULD THINK EGGS and bacon was a simple, uncomplicated dish that generally tasted the same no matter who prepared it. The moment William took the first bite of his breakfast, however, he knew this was incorrect. Mrs. Lamont’s eggs and bacon outranked all of his previous servings by miles. The bacon was perfect – crisp and golden – and the eggs slightly fluffy somehow. He’d no idea how she’d managed that but he made a mental note to complement her achievement the next time he saw her.
Happy with this decision, he wished his parents and sisters a good day, excused himself from the table, and went to call on his brothers. Athena’s eyes narrowed on him as he strode toward the door. William simply smirked and snatched an extra piece of bacon from the sideboard on his way out the room. She could wonder all she liked about his exceptionally good mood. He certainly wasn’t about to mention his run-ins with Mrs. Lamont.
He halted in the process of putting on his gloves and wondered what her given name might be. I’ll figure it out. Satisfied with this newfound goal, he donned his hat and left. Fifteen minutes later, he was standing in his oldest brother’s study.
“Perhaps we should call on James together,” Charles said in reference to their middle brother. “Otherwise, you’ll just have to repeat the account of your time abroad yet again.”
“It would also be nice for the three of us to spend time together the way we once used to.”
“Agreed,” Charles said.
They stepped out into the hallway but didn’t even reach the front door before two small bodies careened toward them with shouts of glee. Miniature hands and fingers clasped at Charles until he lifted his son and daughter up into his arms for a hug.
William watched with amusement and, he’d later recall, with an odd ache somewhere near his heart. He’d greeted his niece and nephew along with their mother, Bethany, when he’d arrived, but this show of affection was something else entirely.
Perhaps, he mused, nothing would ever be as before. His brothers were married now with wives and children of their own. Their loyalties had shifted and William acknowledged that it would never truly be the three of them against the world again. But they might be able to offer some valuable help and advice.
“What do you think of Mama and Papa’s new cook?” he asked once he and Charles had set off at a casual pace. James’ newly acquired townhouse wasn’t far. They’d reach it in less than ten minutes.
Charles met James’s gaze with a raised eyebrow before facing forward once more. “She’s not what one would expect.”
“My thoughts exactly.”
“Her cooking is superb,” Charles added.
“It certainly is.”
“And she’s extraordinarily pretty.”
“Yes.” William nodded while picturing Mrs. Lamont’s bright blue eyes, the mischief about her when she joked with him, and the pleasure she showed when she spoke about food.
“Stop it,” Charles chastised.
William missed a step and stumbled slightly. “What?”
“Whatever it is you’re thinking, rid your brain of it right this instant.”
“First of all, you’ve no idea what I’m thinking and—”
“I know it involves Mrs. Lamont and judging from that devilish grin you’re wearing, I’d say you’ve got scandalous intentions where she’s concerned.”
Very well. His brother wasn’t entirely wrong. Although...
“I’d like to think my intentions are noble.”
“That’s impossible considering the circumstances.”
William was starting to wonder if he’d made a serious error in judgment when he’d decided to call on Charles. He gritted his teeth. “I’d never treat her unkindly.”
“Is that what you think I’m implying?” Charles gave him an incredulous look before striding up the front steps of Number 10 Charlotte Street. The butler opened the door after the second knock and showed them into the parlor.
“Will, it’s good to see you again,” James said as soon as he entered the room after being alerted to Charles and William’s arrival. He shook William’s hand before glancing at Charles. “You too, of course.”
Charles jutted his chin toward William. “He wants to bed Mrs. Lamont.”
William almost choked on his tongue. “I never said that.”
“You didn’t have to,” Charles informed him with the imperialistic smugness of an older brother who thought he knew everything. “It might as well be painted all over your face in crimson letters.”
“Good God,” James muttered. He stared at William. “You have to swear you’ll do no such thing.”
“I never suggested I would,” William insisted. Honestly, he was starting to get quite annoyed.
“It would be cataclysmic,” Charles said.
“Utterly disastrous,” James added.
“I merely agreed to finding her pretty. He’s the one who suggested everything else.” William pointed an accusatory finger at Charles, who merely snorted and took a seat.
“Then you’ll have no issue with keeping your distance from her. Will you?” James went to ring the bell pull.
With a disgruntled sigh, William sat opposite Charles and propped his head in his hand. A maid arrived, coffee and biscuits were ordered, and then the three men were left alone once again.
“I shouldn’t have said anything,” William muttered.
“You were right to do so,” Charles said. “Temptation can be hard to resist, but it’s important you do so now. Before it’s too late.”
“Consider the following,” James said in a gentler tone as he took a seat adjacent to William. “You’re an eligible bachelor and she’s a young woman. From an external point of view, you are her employer and she is your employee, even if Mama and Papa are the ones paying her salary. Anyone who sees the two of you chatting together at greater length or sharing a joke will assume the worst.”
“She’ll be labeled your mistress even if she’s not,” Charles stated.
The coffee arrived and the conversation paused for a moment until the cups had been filled and the maid who’d served them was gone.
“Mama and Papa will have no choice but to sack her,” James said. “And neither of them will thank you for it, I can promise you that.”
“So then—”
“You must keep the appropriate amount of distance,” Charles said. “Better yet, forget her completely and find someone else. I’m sure Mama has a list of suitable young ladies lying about somewhere.”
William bristled. “I have no interest in courtship or marriage.”
“Then all the more reason for you to leave Mrs. Lamont alone,” James said. He shared a cryptic look with Charles, who answered with a nod, then quickly added, “Perhaps telling us what you’ve been up to this past year will help.”
“I did write,” William grumbled. The brilliant mood he’d been in all morning had dimmed significantly during the course of the last hour.
“Yes,” Charles said, “but you never gave a descriptive image of Lisbon or a detailed account of the people you associated with during your stay there. Surely you must have made friends.”
“I did. And the town itself was a marvelous experience.” Thinking back, William described the colorful buildings and narrow streets, the plazas lined with orange trees and the fresh ocean breeze.
As the conversation progressed and turned toward his brothers and the birth of James’ first child six months earlier, William relaxed. His initial reaction to what they’d said with regard to Mrs. Lamont had been outrage. He’d gotten defensive. But the truth was they were probably right. What sort of relationship could he possible hope to pursue with her besides one in which she would be ruined? So maybe the right thing to do would be to stay above stairs from now on and keep his distance. It was what he’d planned to do on his own before he’d happened upon her this morning.
Charles and James weren’t wrong. She was from a different social class, and if he showed an interest in her, people would start to wonder about the nature of their relationship.
Perhaps if he kept himself busy, he could forget about her all together.
“Do you still box and fence?” he asked, the question so sudden his brothers both blinked.
“I gave up boxing a few months ago but I still fence,” Charles said.
“I do both,” James said. He offered a wry smile. “Want to join me one day?”
“Yes.” William snatched up a biscuit and took a bite. “When I was in Lisbon, I swam almost every morning, and when the weather didn’t allow for that, I rode. The exercise was invigorating – much better than all this sitting about.”
“We could head over to Gentleman Jackson’s this afternoon if you like,” James said.
“I would,” William said. “Very much so.”
“And I’m happy to spar with you tomorrow and Thursday,” Charles said.
William appreciated the offer. “Maybe we can also meet for luncheon one day at Mivart’s?”
“Sorry,” Charles said. “Bethany and I have something of a luncheon ritual with the children. You’re welcome to join us if you like.”
“Thank you.” William glanced at James. “How about you?”
“I haven’t eaten at Mivart’s in a while,” James said. “Name the day and the hour and I’ll be there.”
A schedule was confirmed and by the time William headed home to collect his boxing equipment, he was satisfied with his increasingly full schedule. Tonight he’d go to White’s in the hope of meeting some of his friends. Hopefully, he’d be able to convince them to go fishing, take a ride out of the City, or meet for a game of cards.
If all went well he’d be mostly away from home for the next week, after which he’d simply have to repeat the process.
Yes. This could work quite well. He had no doubt about it, and as it turned out he was right. His brothers and friends kept his mind away from Mrs. Lamont. They joined him for breakfast, luncheon, and dinner at various restaurants and clubs, ensuring that not even food would tempt him with thoughts of the lovely French cook. His parents and sisters were naturally perplexed by his insistence to stay away from the house, and he was equally reluctant to offer an explanation.
But when he arrived home one afternoon for a quick change of clothes and the smell of baked goods wafted toward him, William’s resolve wavered. Someone – a servant most likely – had forgotten to close the door to the stairs leading down to the kitchen. The temptation the sweet scent offered was overwhelming as it swirled around his nostrils.
Unable to resist the pull, he advanced. He reached the door and paused with his hand on the handle.
Just close the door and step away. Right now.
His body leaned forward until the aroma engulfed him. His feet moved. The top step creaked beneath his weight. William’s mouth began to water and before he knew how it had happened, he’d arrived in the kitchen where servants hurried to and fro while doing chores.
The scullery maid’s eyes widened the moment she saw him. She almost tripped over her feet as she hurried past, barely managing a curtsey before she ducked inside the larder. One of the grooms who’d been taking a break in a corner leapt to his feet. He set the cup he’d been drinking from down so quickly, its contents spilled over the side. Offering a hasty nod he fled before William had a chance to stop him.
Ludicrous.
William shook his head. One would think he had the plague, considering the speed with which he was able to clear the room. Allowing his gaze to wander, it slid across the hot bread rolls resting on the work table, and toward the woman who’d made them.
His heart stopped. Or at least that was how it felt. Because Mrs. Lamont wasn’t alone. She was standing with flour-covered arms elbow deep in a bowl, kneading dough while laughing in response to something one of the much-too-young-and-far-too-handsome footmen was saying. His name was Matt Cleaver and while William hadn’t really had an opinion about him before, he suddenly disliked him intensely.
Don’t engage.
Ignoring his own sage advice, William moved farther into the room, until he was able to see Mrs. Lamont’s pink cheeks and the smudge of flour across her chin. A stray lock of hair curled next to her brow and her eyes, while downcast and focused upon her chore, crinkled at the edges with amusement.
An ugly sensation grew inside William, writhing and clawing until he felt sick. Clearly the roast beef he’d had for luncheon at that new place one of his friends had recommended was disagreeing with him.
What else could it possibly be?
Forcing a bland smile, he looked at Matt. The footman hadn’t noticed him yet. Neither had Mrs. Lamont. But that was about to change.
“If I knew baking could be such fun, I’d have taken it up years ago,” he drawled.
Matt’s head jerked sideways until he found William. “Mr. Townsbridge.”
“Indeed.” William noted that Mrs. Lamont had chosen not to deign him with her attention.
He reached out toward the bread rolls, allowing his hand to hover above them. Matt sucked in a breath and Mrs. Lamont slowed her movements. There was a pause in which it felt as if the continued existence of the world was at stake.
And then she glanced toward him and said, “If you touch those right now, you do so at your own peril.”
Oddly, instead of getting annoyed, the most peculiar compulsion to sweep her into his arms and kiss her struck him squarely in the chest. Feeling brave – at least a great deal braver than what was probably wise – William raised a brow and lowered his hand.
The footman took a step back and shook his head. Don’t do it.
Mrs. Lamont’s brilliant blue gaze latched onto William’s, jolting his heart into rapid motion. He wasn’t sure what compelled him, perhaps her domestic appearance, her challenging gaze, the dreadful sensation twisting around in his gut, or possibly all three combined, but rather than withdraw, he grabbed a bread roll and shoved it into his mouth while staring straight at her.
ELOISE WASN’T SURE how to react. Ordinarily she would have yelled at anyone brave enough to tamper with the food she prepared. But Mr. Townsbridge had more right to the freshly baked bread rolls than a servant. Yet she had warned him, so she really ought to follow through with her threat. He had thwarted her after all, challenged her even, and if she did nothing in response, she would be yielding to his control.
Somehow, she had to regain the upper hand. It was the only way for her to maintain her composure, to not lose herself in all the odd feelings he stirred within her, to recover from his sudden appearance after not seeing him for nearly a week.
She’d enjoyed their outing to the market more than she ought. And she’d expected him to show up in the kitchen no later than the following day. But then he hadn’t, and rather than dismiss the issue, it had prompted her to wonder when she would see him again and why he was staying away, and oh, she almost wished he would go back to where he had come from so she could stop feeling so edgy.
At least then he’d be out of her life for good.
Except now he was here, watching her while he chewed on a bread roll. A smug gleam in his eyes dared her to do her worst.
Pulling her shoulders back, she raised her chin and removed her hands from the dough she’d been kneading. “Those aren’t intended for you. They’re meant for your mother’s charity event this evening, and now I am one short.”
Mr. Townsbridge swallowed the bite. Brief hesitation dulled his eyes before he narrowed his gaze and said, “My mother hasn’t mentioned any charity event to me. I think you’re bluffing.”
“I never bluff.” Flattening her mouth into a straight line, Eloise placed her hands on her hips. “My schedule is calculated with exact precision, Mr. Townsbridge. I don’t have time to make additional bread rolls now.”
He glanced at the half eaten one in his hand. “Er...”
“Neither do any of the other servants, so that leaves you.”
Mr. Townsbridge’s mouth fell open. Matt sputtered something inaudible that sounded like a combination of humor and shock. Eloise hoped he would leave before he upset her goal.
“You’re making a new dough right now, though,” Mr. Townsbridge said. “I can see it from where I’m standing.”
“That is the pie dough for luncheon tomorrow.”
“But—”
“Unless you wish to disrupt your mother’s event by denying one of her guests a bread roll, you ought to clean your hands, grab that bowl, and begin measuring flour.”
He gulped, glanced over his shoulder, and slowly turned back to face her with wide eyes. “I’m supposed to fence with my brother.”
“In that case you probably ought to get started.” She raised both eyebrows.
Mr. Townsbridge looked at Matt, who held up both hands while backing away.
“I’d do as she says,” Matt said. He gave Eloise a look that warned her to be careful before removing himself to some other part of the house.
“How about an apology?” Mr. Townsbridge tried. He added a smile that threatened to melt her bones.
Falling for Mr. Townsbridge (The Townsbridges, #3) Page 3
