Читать книгу Second Chance Cinderella - Carla Capshaw - Страница 13

Chapter Four

Thankful the first two courses had kept her too busy to ponder Sam’s cryptic accusation that she had somehow made him heartless, Rose picked up a heavy tray of seasoned beef from the sideboard and returned to the six couples seated around the long table.

If she were the hostess, she would be pleased by the evening thus far. The lovely smells of dish after dish filled the dining room. Piano music drifted in from the drawing room, having replaced the violin sometime during the first course. The merriment of the diners and the ease of discussion among them proclaimed the party a triumph. All the while, Sam sat at the head of the feast like a lord to the manor born.

The rough and tumble youth she’d loved had been replaced by a fine-mannered gentleman whose tailored waistcoat probably cost more than Andrew’s school tuition. Had she not known he’d spent the first fifteen years of his life in an orphans’ asylum and the next four gambling, stealing and doing whatever else it took to scrape together the barest of necessities, she would never have believed he hadn’t been weaned on wealth and privilege.

She lowered a tray of beef for the gentleman she’d heard referred to as Mr. Winters. Deeply unimpressed by the change in Sam after the foul way he had treated her, she was not proud of how her gaze sought him out time and time again or that she found him so handsome she had to keep reminding herself that outward beauty was of no consequence when the core of the man was rotten.

“If I were you,” Mr. Winters said quietly, “I’d find something besides Blackstone to marvel at before Miss Ratner goes apoplectic.”

Marvel? At Sam? Was that how she appeared? She balked at the idea of Sam thinking he had her moonstruck. She glanced toward the hostess, whom she had already served.

Miss Ratner appeared to be having a cozy chat with the honored lord to her right, but her eyes were devoid of mirth and throwing daggers in Rose’s direction. Rose shrank from the malice fixed on her and went quickly back to her work.

“Thank you,” she whispered to Mr. Winters, a rakish gent with dark hair and green eyes who’d flirted with her each time she brought a new offering to the table. She wished she had the opportunity to say more, but after the butler’s warning to speak to guests as little as possible, she didn’t dare give Miss Ratner another excuse to take offense with her.

“I be...believe you’re correct, Winters,” slurred Lord Sanbourne from across the table.

“Of course I am, milord.” Winters winked at Rose as he speared a piece of beef with his fork. “But might I inquire as to why you think so?”

“That tempting do...dove beside you.” He picked up his goblet and signaled toward Rose. “Quite a lovely little bird Blackstone has caged there. Wouldn’t mind having one in my own parlor to sing for me whe...whenever I like.”

His suggestive laugh brought heat to her cheeks, but Rose kept her face expressionless as she swiftly moved on to the next guest. After making her way down the table, she came to Sam, who was listening to Lady Fulton rattle on about her trio of dogs.

With no way to avoid him, she held the tray while he took his time to choose a selection. Miffed that he ignored her except to make her stand there overlong, she was tempted to drop the lot in his lap and bully the consequences.

“I wouldn’t if I were you,” he warned under his breath. Their eyes met in challenge. She ground her teeth, hating that he still knew her well enough to make an accurate guess at her thoughts.

An hour passed and Rose silently rejoiced in the arrival of the last course. Her feet and lower back were on fire. The tightness of her dress pinched her middle and her empty stomach mourned the inability to sample the array of cheeses, fruit and confections on offer.

As she arranged steaming cups of coffee and tea on a small trolley, she prayed the next hour would fly by without incident. Except for the constant distraction of Sam, she’d survived the evening intact, and once the meal concluded her services would no longer be required. If all went well, she’d be able to head back to the Malbury townhouse by half past one. Not only did she need a few hours of rest before beginning work in the morning, she planned to avoid another confrontation with Sam by escaping while his guests kept him too occupied to notice she’d gone.

After serving the Nesselrode pudding, a complicated iced dessert that Rose had seen only twice before, Robert fetched a silver platter of strawberry charlotte russe and returned to the table. Rose followed him with the hot beverages. Careful not to spill a drop, she started with Miss Ratner before working her way up one side of the table, past Sam, who took his coffee black as she’d known he would, and back down the other. As she served Miss Ratner’s father, he placed his hand on the small of her back, holding her captive despite her best efforts to extract herself without drawing attention.

“I wasn’t aware Blackstone meant to marry anytime soon,” Mr. Winters said.

“Oh, yes, we’re ess...pecting a proposal any day now, aren’t we, poppet?”

“Papa, you weren’t supposed to mention our little secret, don’t you remember?” Miss Ratner said coyly. To the rest of the company within earshot, she added, “I trust all of you will be more discreet than my dear father has been. Mr. Blackstone and I intend our joyous news to remain private for a few weeks longer before we announce the occasion in the Times.”

Rose’s stricken gaze flew to Sam. Winded, unable to catch her breath, she lost all sense of her surroundings. The chatter faded to silence as though she’d been sealed in an airless glass box. Blissfully unaware that Miss Ratner had just dealt her heart a savage blow, he continued to listen to Lady Fulton with a glazed expression and tolerant half smile.

The prospect of losing Sam forever sickened her to the core. Through all their years of separation, even after she’d lost faith he’d ever return, a long-buried part of her had hoped she might be wrong. The cup rattled against the saucer she held, but she remained incapable of movement. Even Lord Sanbourne’s hand creeping around her waist failed to elicit a response.

Sam’s indolent gaze turned her way. He quit speaking midsentence and a question of concern furrowed his brow. He mouthed the words What is it? but she could do no more than shake her head.

Sanbourne’s hand stroked her hip. Outrage thawed her frozen state. She jerked, splashing hot coffee against her palm as the hubbub of the party filled her ears in a rush.

His expression fierce, Sam motioned for Mr. Hodges. The butler shuffled to him, bent forward to listen then started in her direction. Intent to be away before the butler reached her, she squirmed to be free of Sanbourne, but the old man’s fingers tightened into a claw that dug into the layers of her garments and pinched painfully into her skin.

Mr. Hodges didn’t speak to her as she’d thought he intended. Instead, he stopped on the other side of Lord Sanbourne and leaned over to whisper in his ear.

The viscount’s wandering hand dropped from her waist as though she’d caught fire. She scuttled away and took a place next to the sideboard, her back to the wall. Grateful the scene had transpired without causing so much as a ripple of interest among the guests, she longed to rub the sore spot where the painful stamp of Sanbourne’s fingers lingered on her hip.

She daren’t look at Sam. His outrage had been palpable a few moments earlier. Did he believe she’d caused the incident with his future father-in-law? She’d seen maids held responsible and dismissed for the improper advances they were subjected to, and given Sam’s dissatisfaction with her, she wouldn’t be surprised if he didn’t delight in placing the fault at her door.

Without making a to-do, Mr. Hodges instructed her to leave and wait in the corridor. Worry followed her into the hall. Surely being sent away like a naughty child spoke ill of her performance as a footman.

Outside the dining room, the heightened volume of the piano music veiled the clink of glasses and cutlery as a pair of maids stacked the dishes for their return to the kitchen.

A huge oil painting graced the wall above a tufted velvet bench. The landscape reminded her of a meadow on the edge of Ashby Croft that she and Sam used to visit.

Her feet aching, she ignored her training and sat down. Beside her, a chest of drawers offered partial concealment from anyone not intent on finding her.

The need for rest demanded she sleep. She fought the urge to kick off her tight shoes and leaned her head against the chest of drawers, promising herself she’d close her eyes for just a moment.

* * *

Sam waited ten excruciating minutes before excusing himself from Lady Fulton and the endless account of her madcap pugs. He didn’t usually make tactical errors, yet he’d failed spectacularly today when he’d come up with the harebrained scheme of having Rose brought in to serve. He’d been an idiot to imagine watching her from across the room through several long courses of rich food and vacuous conversation would be anything less than torture. Not that she’d suffered the same ill effects.

If her behavior this evening was anything to go by, he was no more than a nuisance to her, a relic from the past that she’d best like to forget. His reappearance and the unusual task he’d given her tonight may have knocked her off-kilter, but she’d handled every demand with a reserve and poise not found in someone that was overly upset.

Ignoring the annoyed glances Amelia cast his way, he strode into the corridor. The maids clearing the dishes stopped their task and bobbed a curtsy. He looked to his right. The warm, yellow glow of several gas lamps lit the long hallway, but he saw no sign of Rose.

Had she disappeared again? Unreasonable panic gripped him. Had he been such an ogre she would risk the danger of leaving this late at night without an escort? If anything ill happened to her, the fault would lie with him.

So far the pendulum of his emotions had swung between disbelief and anger to desperate, irrational longing. His need to feel indifferent warred with a base desire to hurt her as deeply as she had wounded him. Why her sudden appearance troubled him after their many years apart and all he’d accomplished was an enigma that demanded attention. If he believed God had the slightest interest in him, he might even pray for the answers.

A small movement on the far side of an antique chest filled him with relief. He raked his fingers through his hair. He hated the way she made him feel every emotion—good or bad—like the blow of a hammer, but at least she hadn’t left him.

He reached her in three strides. The shadows guarded her. Encased in black as she was, he could barely see her slumped against the large piece of furniture, her head tipped against the wood. Her cap was askew and her eyes were closed. Fast asleep, she sighed softly, drawing his attention to the full curve of her bottom lip and the delicate point of her chin.

He watched her, afraid to touch her because he wanted so much more than she cared to give. If only he’d married her before coming to London, she might still be his. She wouldn’t have had the chance to forget him or fall in love with someone else. Did her husband have any inkling how fortunate he was to have stolen her heart?

Desperate for a distraction from such gloomy thoughts, he settled on the memory of Sanbourne touching her. How he would love to smash the old leech. In their younger years, he’d been too poor and powerless to protect Rose from the vultures who’d reckoned paying for a room at the inn where she worked included the right to grope her. How many times had he promised that when he made his fortune, he’d see her treated with respect?

Yet, here he was, the master of the house and she’d been subjected to the same foul behavior. Worse, in his study earlier he’d given her the impression she wasn’t safe from him, either, that he would treat her in any fashion he saw fit.

Guilt assailed him. As lovely as she was, she’d never been a stranger to male interest. As far back as the school yard, her sun-kissed hair, bright blue eyes and delicate stature had drawn admirers like honeybees to a wildflower. Without knowing how many times he’d warned those same blokes away from her, she’d been mindful of their feelings and treated each of them with kindness—a far cry from how he’d treated her this evening.