Page 37 of An Arranged Marriage with a Cruel Earl
“Um...no, Mrs Hadley,” he said quickly. “I would much rather take them on a tray in my own quarters.”
“Oh! Of course, my lord.” Mrs Hadley smiled at him, and he watched as she went to the stove. She always fried the eggs, and they were always delicious, but it was the first time in a while that he had thought to eat eggs. He had preferred to allow Mrs Hadley to cook with them, since they could only afford a few.
His mind wandered as Mrs Hadley cooked. He wondered where Emmeline was, and a stab of guilt lanced into him at thinking that she might have been cornered by the cousins. Then again, he remindedhimself with a smile, she had needed no assistance with them the previous evening. He found his mind drifting to how beautiful Emmeline had looked, her long neck proud in that low-necked green gown, her beautiful red hair in high contrast with her soft skin.
“Eggs be ready, my lord,” Mrs Hadley told him. He blinked, dragging his thoughts back to the moment.
“Oh! Thank you,” he said sincerely as Mrs Hadley slipped two fried eggs onto a fine, large slice of toast, and loaded the plate with another slice.
“Should Mr Pearson take them up to your chamber?” Mrs Hadley asked.
“Oh. No... I’ll take them,” Andrew said quickly.
She beamed and it was only when he was halfway up the servants’ stairs, using the back route to his room, that he realised she probably thought that he and Emmeline had slept late, and they were going to share them. The thought made him flush.
Lately, he had found his thoughts increasingly drawn to Emmeline. She was beautiful, undeniably so, but it was more than that. Her spirited nature and quiet strength had begun to inspire a deep admiration in him. He smiled to himself, feeling the warmth of his own thoughts as he entered his study, wishing she were there with him.
He settled down at his desk and devoured the eggs and toast, relieved that the strange cloudy sensation in his head lifted almost instantly. He frowned as he gazed at his desk. A letter from his solicitor was there, reminding him of a matter he had meant to address. His solicitor had mentioned a debt to one Mr Hall, a purveyor of furniture in London. Andrew was sure that, of all their creditors, Mr Hall had already been paid. He resolved to check, and to do that he had to consult the old records, which were filed away in the library.
He paused in his room to tug on his riding boots and then hurried down to the library.
The library was on the ground floor, just across from the dining room, and when he reached it, he noticed the door was slightly open. His lips lifted in a smile, thinking that perhaps Emmeline was perusing the collection. He pushed the door, which swung open soundlessly, and then tensed as someone let out a gasp.
“Andrew!” Ambrose said, his eyes round. “You startled me!”
“Ambrose?” Andrew frowned as his cousin hastily pushed a book back onto the shelf. “Were you looking for something?”
“Um...yes,” Ambrose admitted, looking uncomfortable. “I was. It was a copy of a storybook Grandfather used to read to us. I wanted to find it for...just for the sake of nostalgia.” He looked around awkwardly, a little embarrassed.
Andrew shrugged. “What was the title?” he asked. The library was a little haphazard, but he could usually find what he was looking for.
Ambrose frowned. “I don’t exactly recall,” he said swiftly. “I wonder if you do. It was a story about a mariner who got lost at sea. He clung onto a floating spar and was washed onto an island of giants.”
Andrew’s brow furrowed. “I don’t recall that one,” he said as Ambrose told him the tale. He scratched his head. He did not even recall their grandfather reading to them. He searched his memory for what Ambrose described, but he had no recollection at all.
“You must do!” Ambrose insisted. “Grandfather read it so well. He did the most terrifying boom for the giant’s voice, and he made the descriptions so vivid.”
Andrew frowned, mystified. He truly, absolutely, had no recollection of that at all. He pushed aside his confusion. Ambrose was four years his senior—he would have more vivid memories of that time than Andrew himself did. And he had still been grieving for his father and mother. Perhaps in his grief, he had blocked out whole sections of his memory. He did recall very little from the year following his parents’ passing, after all.
“I’m sorry, Ambrose,” he said unsurely. “But I truly don’t know. You might find it if you look here,” he suggested, pointing to an older section of the library. “The books from when...from my childhood...are most likely here.” He did not want to say, “The books from when Father was alive.” Recalling his parents’ passing was never easy, and it was harder now when he was trying his best to forget that he might have been at fault; that he might be cursed.
Perhaps, he thought as he found the records and hastened out of the library, that was what was so disconcerting. His cousins seemed to want to talk about little besides their memories, and Grandfather, and he did not want to remember.
He took the book to the study and went downstairs. The clouds had lifted a little and he was impatient and restless. He needed to get outdoors.
He strode to the stables and went in, his spirits lifting immediately as he walked down the aisle between the stalls. The scent of horse sweat and hay was like a balm to his soul, soothing him where naught else could.
He paused as he neared his horse’s stall. He could hear one of the horses snorting and the soft sound of a whispering voice. He narrowed his gaze and his heart jumped as he made out the form of a woman in the corner. She was petting his white hunting horse, Snowflake, and her hair was auburn. It was obviously Emmeline.
“What brings you here?” he asked, delighted.
She jumped and whirled around, her hand lifting to her lips. “Oh! Andrew!” Her green eyes were wide and startled. “I didn’t know you were there. Sorry.”
“No need to apologise,” he answered gently as his horse whickered in his stall. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”
She smiled, a brief smile that lit up her face and dazzled him. “Well, then. We are both contrite.”
Andrew laughed. “Indeed, we are,” he agreed. He paused. “You and Snowflake seem to have struck up some kind of friendship.”
