Page 14 of A Cinderella to Redeem the Earl
Puzzled she turned to face him, but he was already halfway out of the door and did not turn back to explain. What on earth could he mean by that cryptic comment?
Replete from the delicious breakfast, Damian made his way to his study. He needed to tally up last night’s income. Setting up Rake Hall had cost him a pretty penny, but it was starting to pay for itself.
He sat down at his desk and pulled out the tin box containing money and vowels.
He paused for a moment, thinking about breakfast. He could not recall when he had enjoyed a meal more.
The eggs were light and fluffy and seasoned just right, the bacon curled at its crispy edges and she had presented him with some perfectly browned toast, butter and preserves to finish it off.
But more than that, he had enjoyed watching her work. The swift sure way she beat the eggs, the turning of the bacon and the toast at just the right moment.
She knew her business.
Which, when you thought about it, was exceedingly odd for the daughter of a vicar and the cousin of at least one earl and a couple of barons. Daughters of the nobility did not know how to cook as a rule.
His investigations had revealed that the vicar had not left his family well off when he died, which was strange in and of itself, but somehow, he had not expected her to support herself by her own industry. Her mother certainly had not, marrying at the first opportunity. It was odd that the daughter had not chosen the same path to comfort.
Fortunate, given his plan. And that wasnota pang of regret.
He had buckled down to work and by midday had finished.
Time to check in with Pip. He stretched his arms over his head. Paperwork: it was the bane of his life. A necessary evil. He shrugged into his coat and strolled out to the stables.
He met Pip in the courtyard on his way into the house.
‘Good morning.’
Pip grinned and shook his hand. ‘Bonjour, mon ami. Are we rich?’
‘Not yet.’ He grimaced. ‘We still have some way to go before we have recovered our investment. But we will. A few more evenings like last night and you will never need to work again.’
‘Good. You have no need to check on the stables, if that is where you were going. All is under control.’
‘Then you have no need to check in on the kitchen.’ Now why the hell had he added that?
Pip’s eyes gleamed with amusement. ‘Bien sur. I will be heading back to Town once my bag is packed. Will you come with me?’
‘No. I will return in a couple of days. There are a few things here that require my attention. I noticed another leak in the roof. It would not do to have the ceiling fall down on our patrons.’
The smile on his friend’s face became more mischievous. ‘Or on the new cook.’
Damian let the comment pass. He was used to Pip’s teasing. Or at least he should be, but he still felt a surge of irritation at his friend’s obvious interest in Mrs Lamb. ‘Well, if there is nothing for me to do in the stables, I’ll take my walk around the property and see what other repairs are needed.’
Pip nodded. ‘Very well. I look forward to seeing you in London in a few days.’
Damian meandered across the lawn with no clear destination in mind and found himself approaching the orangery—a glass structure set facing south against the wall along one side of the formal gardens.
He frowned. Someone had left the door open.
He hadn’t been in the building since he had returned from France. Nor could he recall whether, the last time he had passed by the building, the door had been open or closed.
Perhaps the door had been left ajar years ago when his family fled for the Continent.
The dark sky made it gloomy inside. That and the smell of rotting vegetation. Bare branches added to the sense of death.
To his astonishment, Mrs Lamb was poking around in one of the large containers at the far end. It contained a small tree sporting the only green leaves in the building. She was the last person he wanted to meet.
Or was she? He sauntered between the rows of clay pots, the carpet of dead leaves crunching underfoot, wondering how long it would be before she noticed his approach.
