Page 44 of Why Do Earls Fall in Love?
“Does he? Truly?”
He nodded.
“Well, then we will take care of that. Add it to the list.” She narrowed her eyes at him. “Whiddon, you don’t mean to send me off to the family estate in Devonshire, do you?”
That startled him from contemplation of her creamy skin against the sky blue of her gown. “God’s teeth, no. I wouldn’t rescue you from one pit of despair just to consign you to another.”
“Well, I must thank you for that. But may I ask, what do you do when you wish to invite your friends over?”
“I don’t. I meet them elsewhere.”
“I see. Where?”
“At the club. At a chophouse. At an event. At their homes. Just, elsewhere.”
She scowled. “Several of those options are not open to me. And I am sorry, but I will not be content to keep just to a couple of rooms.” She folded her arms, pushing her bosom higher. “Unless you intend to change your mind about our arrangement—”
“No,” he interrupted harshly. Glancing at Chapman he jerked his head. “Please give me a moment alone with the countess.”
The valet fled, looking relieved.
Whiddon retreated to a safe spot behind a sofa. “There is no need for the servants to know of our private agreements.”
“Servants always know,” she told him. “Especially when there are disagreements.”
“We are not having a disagreement.”
“I am.” She lifted her chin. “You don’t wish for me to interfere with your lifestyle. Fine. I have agreed to it. But I must be free to make some sort of life for myself. That means I will need the trappings of a lady. It means making calls and receiving them.Here. Luncheons. Teas. Committee meetings, perhaps. Not to mention the fact that you have promised me that I may have my siblings to visit.”
He groaned, knowing he could not deny it.
“This house will be cleaned, organized and restored from the attics to the basements,” she said firmly.
“Oh, hell,” he moaned. “There will be noise. Workmen. Upheaval.”
“Better than filth, mold and decay,” she said, unrelenting.
“Damn it, Charlotte.” This was exactly what he did not want. Interference. Change.
“I will do my best to keep the commotion to a minimum,” she vowed. Her gaze softened. “I am sorry to remove the anticipation of your father’s ire, but you can take comfort in knowing you will not be living like him. It will not be about the appearances. I will be sure this house is in perfectly good repair, comfort and taste.”
Damn it all to hell. He didn’t want to be understood. He didn’t want flashing eyes or a generous, blue-clad bosom tempting him before he’d had coffee. Or crumpets.
Crumpets.
He crossed to the fire and pulled out the toasting sticks. Nothing but charred lumps were left at the ends. He tossed them down and turned to leave.
“Where are you going?” she asked.
“To have breakfast at the club. And to find a modicum of peace!”
He stalked to Chapman’s room and entered without knocking. “Give me any information you’ve got on the Comte de Perette.”
Silently, the valet retrieved a file from a small escritoire.
Whiddon snatched it and turned to go. At the door, he hesitated. “One of my bed pillows is in the traveling coach. Fetch it before someone finds it.”
He managed not to slam the door as he left.
