Free Winter Wedding by Joan Smith Page B

to do?” In her state of agitation, she didn’t notice she had called Allingcote, Ben.
    The servant dropped a plate of hot buns on to the table in excitement. One fell unobserved into Allingcote’s cup. As the words left Clara’s mouth, she spotted Nel sitting at the other end of the table, beyond her view from the doorway. Clara stopped dead.
    “Good morning, Miss Christopher,” Allingcote said, rising and bowing. “Make that breakfast for three, miss,” he added aside to the servant. “And a fresh cup of coffee for me, if you will be so kind. My bread seems to have drunk mine,” he said, peering into his cup. The servant just stood, her curious gaze running from one of the group to the other.
    “You must not fear that your kitten has run off, Miss Christopher,” he said to Clara. “You really should have closed the lid of its basket, but no matter. We shall have a look about the roads as soon as we’ve eaten.” He walked toward Clara and held her chair for her, just sliding his eyes in an admonishing way toward the staring servant, to explain this seemingly irrelevant talk of kittens.
    “Ye didn’t bring no kitten with yez,” the servant said.
    Nel was charmed with this chance for a little play-acting, and joined in, her eyes sparkling with pleasure. “Hush!” she said, looking over her shoulder with awful caution. “It is a very special kitten. It was necessary to conceal it. The French are after it, you see.”
    “What would they Frenchies be wanting a cat for?”
    “It’s Queen Charlotte’s cat, and they want to hold it for ransom,” the inventive Nel explained.
    From her smiles, Allingcote knew she was about to begin a long story. “But not a word of it belowstairs, mind!” he said to the servant who continued regarding them all with the deepest mistrust. “May we have our coffee now, please?” he said, to be rid of her.
    She poured the coffee and left, looking over her shoulder as if she expected to receive a knife in the back.
    “What fun!” Nel chirped when they were alone. “When she comes back, I shall tell her there is a hundred-guineas reward for the recovery of the kitten. She will have every soul in the place out scouring the roads.”
    “What a pleasant idea, with the balmy December breezes blowing,” Clara said, lifting an eyebrow at Miss Muldoon. Noticing Nel’s state of undress, for her gown was beginning to slip from her shoulder, she added, “You look a fright, Miss Muldoon. You should have tidied up before coming downstairs.”
    “So should you,” Nel replied triumphantly.
    Clara’s hand flew to her hair. She brushed back the loose curl with one hand, clutching her shawl with the other, while her eyes flew to Allingcote. He was regarding her with amusement.
    “Now you have placed me in an untenable position, Nel,” he said. “I can hardly praise Miss Christopher’s charming dishabille when I have just been giving you the devil for yours. Might I suggest you both take a moment to tidy up? There is a mirror and a washbasin behind that curtain. You go first, Nel. Do you have a comb?”
    “No.”
    “I have one in my reticule,” Clara offered, but she had some difficulty extracting it while still trying to hold herself together, so she handed Nel the bag.
    Nel, less bashful, pulled off her shawl and demanded Miss Christopher do up her back buttons before she leave. Such a hand-demanding chore as this was beyond Clara, however, and it was Allingcote who struggled with a dozen pea-sized buttons much too small for his fingers.
    “My reputation wouldn’t be worth a Birmingham farthing if anyone were to see me at this moment,” he declared ruefully. “Two half-dressed ladies in a private parlor with me at eight o’clock in the morning. I shall think twice before jumping to conclusions another time.”
    “I daresay you’d be happy enough to be considered so dashing,” Nel said pertly, and ducked behind the curtain.
    “You neglect to mention the ladies’