Twelfth Night with the Earl (The Sutherland Sisters #3)(6)
Taken up, indeed. What nonsense—
“Children messing about with lit spirits, Miss Sheridan? Ah, well. It’s hardly like Christmas at all without painful burns, I suppose.”
The low drawl came from the doorway behind her. Thea gave the log a vicious poke, but she didn’t turn around, because if she had to look at Ethan’s slow, mocking smile just now, there was no telling what she might do—
“It’s a mercy the entire bloody house didn’t go up in flames.”
Thea hefted the heavy poker in her hand, considering. Perhaps she did know what she’d do, after all.
He sauntered into the room, dropped into the chair behind the massive oak desk, and steepled his fingers under his chin. “Not to worry, Miss Sheridan. Despite your recklessness, we won’t be homeless for Christmas, after all. I’ve managed to douse the flames.”
“Indeed?” Goodness, what a relief that was. She’d been certain a handful of unruly raisins would be the end them all. “I’m delighted to hear it, my lord.”
He raised an eyebrow. “You don’t sound delighted. You sound cross. Don’t tell me the fire has blackened your holiday spirits?”
Thea warned herself to hold her tongue, but as usual it didn’t listen. “No. I only wonder how you managed to put out such terrible flames. Did you smother them with the toe of your boot? Or did you beat them back with one of the tasseled silk pillows?”
“Such a saucy tongue.” He made a tsking sound, his voice heavy with mock regret. “Even when you were a small child that tongue could flay the skin off the toughest hide, but we’re not children anymore, Miss Sheridan. I’m the earl, you’re my servant, and you forget yourself. Now, I’ll have the explanation I demanded earlier at once, if you please. What the devil are you up to?”
Thea stabbed the log and watched it disintegrate in a shower of red sparks. Well, he was every inch the proper earl now, wasn’t he? “Up to? Why, just a jolly game of Snapdragon. Perhaps you’ve heard of it? Children have played it on Christmas Eve for centuries. We’ve played it here at Cleves Court for years now, with no harm done.”
He snorted. “No harm? There are at least six burn holes in my great-great-grandfather’s Aubusson carpet, and if I didn’t know better, I’d suspect someone was trying to hide them under the furniture.”
Thea winced. Dash it all, why had the footmen moved those settees while Ethan was in the room? “Well, as to that, there’s a perfectly innocent explanation—”
He held up his hand. “Never mind. I always hated that carpet. But perhaps you’d be so good as to answer a few other questions. We’ll start with a simple one, shall we? A serving maid called Becky told me the housekeeper was responsible for this party. I assume she meant you. What the devil happened to Mrs. Hastings? I hope those demonic children haven’t bound and gagged her, and locked her in a cupboard somewhere.”
Thea blinked. “Mrs. Hastings?” A better question would be, who the devil was Mrs. Hastings? Unless . . . “Oh. You must mean Mrs. Hopkins.”
“Hopkins?” Ethan frowned, then waved an impatient hand at her. “Yes, very well. Hopkins. Where the devil is Mrs. Hopkins? Why hasn’t she presented herself to me?”
“Allow me to apologize on Mrs. Hopkins’ behalf, Lord Devon. I’m certain she would have presented herself to you at once, aside from one small difficulty. She’s dead.”
“Dead?” He gave her a blank look. “How unfortunate.”
“Yes, isn’t it? Nearly two years ago now.”
He pondered that for a moment, then shrugged. “Well, I suppose she’s excused, then.”
“Are you quite certain? Because I could send a footman to fetch her, if your lordship insists.”
His eyes narrowed at her sarcasm, but Thea only raised an eyebrow at him, her chin in the air. For pity’s sake, was this how aristocrats behaved in London? She wouldn’t overlook such rude arrogance even if he were a duke.
Blast it, this wasn’t at all how she’d imagined this moment unfolding. She’d had more than one girlish fantasy about the day Ethan would return to Cleves Court, but never once had she dreamed he’d appear in the middle of the night, half-sotted and shouting obscenities. Now he’d gone and ruined all her lovely daydreams.
“What the devil are you doing at Cleves Court, Miss Sheridan? Did my father appoint you the new housekeeper? That’s just the kind of foolishness I’d expect of him.”
Thea’s chin rose another notch. Perhaps it wasn’t the best time to put on airs, but there wasn’t anything foolish about her position here. She’d accomplished a great deal for an orphan of uncertain birth. Lady Isabel, Ethan’s mother had taken a fancy to Thea when she was six, and brought her from the local orphanage to live at Cleves Court. Her ladyship had been practical enough to have Mrs. Hopkins train Thea as an upper housemaid, and later as housekeeper. The countess had looked upon her as a daughter, so Thea hadn’t been a servant back then, but she knew how to manage a great house.
“Your father offered me the position after Mrs. Hopkins passed, yes. As to whether it was foolish or not, that’s a matter of opinion. I love this house. He knew it, and I believe he thought I’d take good care of it. I have, after all, been here since I was a girl.”