Rules for Reforming a Rake(8)

“You have it in your power to make things right, my lord. You can be as good and kind as you once were.” She mildly grieved for the loss of his precious, boyish innocence.

He didn’t appear to be in the least moved by her words. “Is that so?”

She blushed, knowing she was being impertinent and meddlesome. Ah, yes. Meddling was a Farthingale trait. It’s what got her into trouble in the first place and led to The Incident. “Of course. Don’t you wish to be?”

“Do you want an honest answer?”

Something in his glib manner rankled her. She didn’t wish to be rude, but she’d had a miserable day and this arrogant man was doing his best to make it worse. “No,” she said with an exasperated roll of her eyes. “I wish to be lied to. Isn’t it every girl’s dream?”

She made no effort to hide her sarcasm, but now regretted that she might have overstepped the proper bounds. He was Eloise’s grandson, after all. What was wrong with her today? She ought to have left well enough alone. A politely insincere “nice to meet you” would have sufficed. Or she might have made a passing comment about the slight family resemblance between him and his grandmother.

He’d just saved Harry. For that alone she ought to have been nice to him.

Instead of being angry, Gabriel let out a slow, devastatingly appealing grin. “I suppose I deserved that. As you may have heard,” he said, glancing at Eloise, “I’m not known for my manners. My brother is though. I think I’ll leave duty and honor to Alexander for now. However, thank you for worrying about me, Miss Farthingale. Few people do.”

She shook her head in confusion. “Why would I worry about you?” In truth, she’d just insulted him.

“I don’t know, but it appears you are.” He glanced down.

Daisy followed his gaze, only to realize she had somehow put her hand on his arm. Worse, she was caressing him along the expanse of solid muscle. “I’m sorry. I don’t know why I did that. It just seemed the natural thing to do. Yes, well... I’ll pull away now.”

But putting thought to action was not so easy when one was a simpleton and one’s heart was madly thumping through one’s ears. Why was her heart still thumping for this reprobate? His brother was the man she needed to marry. He’d said it himself, Alexander was the dutiful son. The worthy son. Finally, to her great humiliation, Gabriel took gentle hold of her hand and pried her fingers off his forearm one by one.

“Join me for supper tonight,” Eloise called after her, but she was too busy dashing out of the house to answer.


***

“Miss Daisy, will you please untie me?”

Daisy glanced around the elegant Farthingale entry hall, searching for the body that went with the voice. She finally found it securely tied to the mahogany coatrack. “Pruitt! What have they done to you?”

She quickly untied their butler and helped him to shake the circulation back into his arms and legs. “Oh, this has gone from bad to worse! Where are the little heathens now?”

“I don’t know, but I heard Cook scream a few moments ago. I hope they haven’t tied her to the spit and roasted her like a stuffed pig.”

Daisy hoped they hadn’t either.

Yet Mrs. Mayhew was not the sort to surrender without a fight, and she had weapons at her disposal. A rolling pin, knives, mallets, meat forks. Yes, she could hold off a frontal assault for hours.

While Pruitt went through the house to check on the rest of the staff, Daisy hurried down the stairs to the kitchen, then came to an abrupt halt. The large room, usually bustling with activity, appeared deserted. All was quiet. Too quiet for this time of day.

The children had been here, she could tell, for the floors, walls, and worktables were covered in a white powder. A week’s supply of flour gone, just like that. Could Mrs. Mayhew have been dispatched as quickly?

Daisy raised her skirts and was beginning to tiptoe across the debris left on the floor when she heard a giggle coming from the servants’ dining alcove. She crept closer and peered around the corner. One, two, three, four, five, six, seven children plus Mrs. Mayhew and her two assistants, sitting around the table, as calm as you please.

All unharmed.

All present and accounted for.

She watched the children eagerly digging into freshly made apple tarts. “Thank you, Mrs. Mayhew,” she said with a giddy sigh and stepped forward. “You’re a marvel.”

The stocky, middle-aged woman glanced up with a smile. “No trouble at all, Miss Daisy. The children were very helpful.”

Daisy shook her head and laughed, pointing in the direction of the flour-covered floor. “I couldn’t help but notice.”