To Taste Temptation (Legend of the Four Soldiers #1)(80)

“Oh, I didn’t see you.”

“Yes, miss,” he said as formally as if he’d never talked to her so casually just a few weeks ago.

There was another footman in the room, of course, and the butler lurked somewhere about. Rebecca sat in her chair feeling a bit deflated. She looked down at the tablecloth in front of her and struggled to hold back sudden tears. Now, that was silly! To go weeping like a baby just because a servant didn’t acknowledge one as a friend. Even if one could really use a friend right now.

She watched as O’Hare’s big, reddened hand poured her tea. “I wonder...” She trailed off, thinking hard.

“Yes, miss?” His voice was so nice, with that bit of a burr softening it.

She looked up and met his green eyes. “My brother’s very favorite sweet in all the world is crabapple jelly, and he hasn’t had any in ages. Do you think it might be possible to purchase some?”

O’Hare’s green eyes blinked. He really did have the most lovely, long eyelashes, almost like a girl’s. “I don’t know if there’s crabapple jelly at the grocer’s, miss, but I can go look—”

“No, not you.” She smiled sweetly at the other footman, a bowlegged fellow who’d been watching their conversation with wide, not-too-bright eyes. “I’d like you to go.”

“Yes’m,” the second footman said. He looked confused, but he was well trained. He bowed and exited, presumably in search of crabapple jelly.

Which left Rebecca alone with O’Hare.

She took a sip of her tea—too hot, she usually let it sit for a minute to cool off—and set the teacup down precisely on the table. “I haven’t seen you since our return from the country.”

“No, miss.”

She twisted the teacup a bit. “I just realized. I don’t even know your name.”

“It’s O’Hare, miss.”

“Not that one.” She wrinkled her nose at her teacup. “Your other name. Your Christian name.”

“Gil, miss. Gil O’Hare. At yer service.”

“Thank you, Gil O’Hare.”

She folded her hands in her lap. He stood behind her like a proper footman, ready to serve her anything she might need. Except what she needed wasn’t on the table or sideboard.

“Did...did you see my brother last night?”

“Yes, miss.”

She looked at the basket of buns in the middle of the table. Really, she wasn’t hungry at all. “I suppose they’re all talking about it in the kitchens.”

He cleared his throat but said nothing more, which she took as a resounding affirmative.

She sighed forlornly. “It was rather spectacular, how he staggered in and collapsed in the hall. I don’t think I’ve ever seen so much blood in my life. I’m sure his shirt is quite ruined.”

Behind her, there was a rustle, and then his arm appeared, clothed in a green coat. He reached for the basket of buns. “Would you like a bun? Cook made ’em fresh just this morn.”

She watched as he picked one out for her and put it on her plate. “Thank you.”

“Yer welcome, miss.”

“It’s just that I have no one to talk about it with,” she said in a rush, staring down at the lone bun on her plate. “For my brother to brawl with Lord Vale like this...It’s very confusing.”

Gil walked over to the sideboard and brought back a dish of coddled eggs. “You made some fine friends at that house party you went to, didn’t you, miss?”

She twisted to look at him as he spooned eggs onto her plate. He didn’t meet her eyes. “How do you know that?”

He shrugged. There was a wash of red high on his cheeks. “Talk in the kitchen. Have some o’ that.” He handed her a fork.

“I expect they were referring to the Hopedale sisters.” She absently ate a bite of eggs. “They probably won’t ever want to see me again after last night.”

“Are you sure?”

Rebecca poked at the mound of yellow eggs and then took another bite. “I doubt anyone in society will be receiving us.”

“They’d be right lucky to have you at one of them fancy parties,” Gil said from behind her.

She twisted to look at him.

His brow was furrowed, but he smoothed it as she watched. “If you don’t mind me sayin’ so, miss.”

“No, I don’t mind.” She smiled at him. “It’s rather sweet of you.”

“Thank you, miss.”

She turned back to the table and took a sip of tea. It was cooler now. “It’s just that even if they would see me, I don’t know if I could talk to the Misses Hopedale about this. When we converse, it’s usually about the weather and types of hats, which I don’t know that much about but seems to be a subject they enjoy. And once in a while we discuss which is better, lemon custard or chocolate pudding? It’s rather a leap to go from puddings to my brother attempting to murder a peer.”

“Yes, miss.” He left her side again to walk to the sideboard. “There’s a lovely herring here and some gammon.”

“But maybe that’s what London ladies always talk about.” She took her fork and prodded the bun on her plate. “I wouldn’t know. I’m from the Colonies, and there’s lots that we do different there.”