The Princess and the Peer(25)

Actually, it was fortuitous she hadn’t had anything but well-worn gowns from which to choose. An impoverished governess could hardly be expected to own an elegant wardrobe and most certainly not the kind of expensive silks and satins that a royal princess would wear.

After deciding on a day dress of medium blue wool, she rang for the maid.

Half an hour later, a happy smile still on her lips, she strolled into the morning room. Nick was there, seated alone at the dining table with a newspaper open near his elbow. “Good morning,” he said, rising politely to his feet.

“Good morning.”

He waited until she had settled herself in a chair opposite before he resumed his seat. She watched as he reached for his cup and drained the contents.

Bell, the servant with the eye patch, approached, a tall silver urn in hand. “Coffee, miss?” he inquired.

“No, thank you. Tea, if you would be so good.”

“Right ye are, miss,” he said as he filled Nick’s cup with the streaming ink black brew. “I’ll be back with a pot fer you in a pinch. What else would ye like? Eggs? Toast? Pancakes? I expect Cook could rustle up just about anything ye’ve a mind ter eat. Personally, I’d have the corned beef hash and eggs the captain jest finished. Good, weren’t it, Cap’n?”

Nick folded his paper into a new shape and returned it to the place near to his elbow. “It was excellent,” he agreed without correcting the servant’s familiar behavior.

The fact that the servant called him Captain confirmed her earlier assumption that Bell had once been a member of his crew. She wondered if any of his other staff were former sailors, although none of those she had encountered so far had Bell’s admittedly relaxed demeanor.

“The corned beef hash and eggs then, since it comes so highly recommended,” she told him, interested to try the decidedly English fare. “And a bowl of fresh fruit, if there is any to be had.”

The servant grinned widely. “Knew ye’d be a sensible girl and not eat like a bird, even if ye are on the thin side of skinny. Can’t abide females wot won’t take but a mouthful. As fer that fruit, I’ll have Cook fix ye up something grand, even if I have ter run out to the market fer it myself.”

“I’m sure that won’t be necessary,” Emma replied, marveling at the novelty of finding herself holding such a lengthy conversation with a footman. She was even more surprised when Bell grinned and gave her a wink before he left the room.

Nick’s face had remained impassive through the entire discussion, his attention apparently fixed on his newspaper. “Forgive Bell,” he said without looking up. “He could never hold his tongue aboard ship either. His loud mouth nearly landed him in the brig more than once.”

She hid a smile. “I must confess he isn’t in the common way, but it’s quite all right. He is merely”—she paused, as several vivid terms came to mind—“exuberant.”

Nick barked out a laugh. “He is that.” Lifting his cup, he drank a long swallow of coffee in spite of the tendrils of steam still wafting from its dark surface.

He must have a steel coating on his tongue, she thought whimsically, or perhaps it was made of silver given how glib he could be when he chose. Wishing suddenly that she had her own beverage with which to occupy herself, she picked up her linen napkin instead and laid it neatly across her lap.

“How did he come to be in your employ?” she asked.

Nick lifted a brow. “Who? Bell?” At her nod, he continued. “Well, what with the navy pensioning off so many of its sailors now that the war is done, jobs are hard to come by, particularly for men who’ve suffered an injury. Being half blind means he can’t work the riggings any longer, even if he could find work on the sea. As for the rest, there aren’t many employers who want a man with one eye. But he’s a good, hardworking lad and loyal as they come, so I found a place for him here.”

Made a place, she realized, since Bell was clearly still learning how to be a proper footman. Nick said it so casually, as if any officer would have done the same for a former crewman. But she knew differently.

Nick had rescued Bell.

And yesterday he had rescued her as well.

Swallowing past the sudden knot in her throat, she was relieved when the footman returned, a loaded tray balanced in both hands.

Whistling quietly under his breath, he set down the tray, then came forward to fill her cup from a large green-and-white porcelain teapot. He left a matching sugar and creamer for her, then returned again with a succulent-looking dish of fresh fruit.

“Here ye go, miss,” he declared. “Cook outdid herself, if ye asks me. Oranges, pears, and pineapples. Couldn’t help meself. I had to try a bite in the kitchen—though not from your dish, o’ course. Got meself smacked for the trouble, but it were worth it. That pineapple is sweet as candy. Ye want a dish too, Cap’n? I mean, milord,” Bell corrected, as if this was another mistake for which he was reprimanded frequently.