Page 77 of The Viscount and the Vicar's Daughter
Greaves walked into the kitchen just then. “Be quiet, you silly geese. You don’t know what you are talking about. All of you, get back to work or I shall report you to Mrs. Lester.”
Viola’s hands were shaking as she approached the trusted Ardley butler. “Is it true, Mr. Greaves? Was Lady Alicia found in his lordship’s bedchamber?”
His expression turned grim. “We cannot leap to conclusions, Miss Ruskin. He is an honorable man. I have no doubt his name will be cleared.”
Then it was true.
She took a moment to steady her breath and then returned to her cooking. After tomorrow, she would be through with her duties here and need not see Lord Ardley ever again. Not that she believed everything Sally had told them. In truth, she could not believe a man could change so drastically in his nature. Like Greaves, she knew there had to be an explanation for the incident.
The viscount was a catch.
These diamonds were here because they hoped he would marry one of them. Perhaps Lady Alicia staged the incident to ensure he would choose her. Or was it possible Lord Ardley, having seen them dance and having chatted with each of them, was now testing them out in bed? Could he be that crass?
“No, he couldn’t be,” she muttered, sooner believing Lady Alicia and her family had plotted to trap him in a compromising position. These were the sort of games thetonplayed, were they not?
However, even if he was exonerated, she intended to keep her distance. She was a simple vicar’s daughter and would be eaten alive by this elite crowd if she did not remain careful. Hadn’t George Haworth warned her about this very thing while they danced together at the fair?
And had she not already been dragged into a battle of wills between Lord Ardley and his father? At least his father understood the rules of the game. Viscounts did not marry vicar’s daughters.
It was as simple as that.
The man was not being an ogre to her. He just saw things clearly and was being sensible about the futility of her affection for his son.
Viola was so distressed, she could not bring herself to peek into the dining room to find out what the guests thought about her crowning meal that evening. The menu was meant to dazzle them. It had taken all of her effort and knowledge to conceive each dish and carry it out to spectacular effect. She had another spectacular meal planned for tomorrow night, since that was to be the last night of the house party.
She meant to leave them all gasping in delight.
Viola thought she would be calmer by the following day, but it was not to be. Sally would not stop coming into the kitchen to talk to her friends about the viscount and his state of undress during yesterday’s incident.
Would they never tire of the topic?
Yes, he was gorgeous.
Rock hard and muscled.
The talk turned bawdy.
The girls on her staff continued to behave like peahens, unable to concentrate for giggling over Sally’s comments and making crude comments of their own. Viola did not understand every remark, but she had her suspicions about what each meant.
Her cheeks were aflame.
“Enough!” she finally shouted. “This is the third pudding burned today. Sally, your duties are as upstairs maid, are they not?”
“Yes, Miss Ruskin,” she said, lowering her head and demurely clasping her hands in front of her.
“Then I suggest you leave the kitchen and attend to them immediately. Out! Now!”
The girl hurried off.
“As for the rest of you,” she said in her sternest schoolmistress voice, surprising even herself by her tone of authority, “next one who burns a pudding will be reported to Mrs. Stringer for reprimand upon her return.”
Fortunately, with Sally and her disruptive chatter now gone, the kitchen staff quickly settled down to work. The rest of the day proceeded smoothly. Viola spent the entire morning and into the afternoon hidden in the kitchen. She was about to begin preparations for the supper feast when Horace, one of the young footmen she was friendly with, came in to issue a report on the viscount’s activities.
“No one has seen him since early this morning,” he said.
Viola paused as she was about to heat sauce in a pan. “Isn’t he at the picnic?”
She knew what the viscount was supposed to be doing today since she had helped him work out the schedule of entertainments for the entire weekend.
