Free No Man's Mistress by Mary Balogh

did not feel as relaxed or as cheerful as he looked.
    Viola popped a forkful of egg into her mouth.
    “They are certainly taking their time in the kitchen,” he said after a short silence. “I must have a word with Jarvey.”
    How dare he! Mr. Jarvey was
her
butler. The old Earl of Bamber had employed him specifically to serve her. But it was not part of her plan to quarrel with this man just yet.
    “Does it seem a long wait to you?” She looked at him in cheerful surprise. “I am so sorry. The kitchen is at aninconvenient distance and the stairs are steep. Mr. Jarvey is not as young as he used to be and sometimes has trouble with his legs. The cook is a little slow too—and absent-minded. But good servants are not easily come by in the country, you know, and one is wise to keep what one has even if it does not quite measure up to town standards.”
    The door opened as she spoke and the butler appeared, an uncovered plate in one hand, a vast tankard of ale in the other. Viola gazed at both with admiration. How had Mrs. Walsh been able to pile the plate so high without everything sliding off? And where had she found such an enormous and hideous tankard? As Mr. Jarvey set his load down on the table, she could see eggs, sausages, kidneys, and bacon as well as slices of toast balancing on one edge of the plate. But the pièce de résistance was a large, thick beefsteak, which must surely have been shown briefly on both sides to the fire and then slapped onto the plate. It was swimming in red juice.
    She transferred her gaze to Lord Ferdinand's face, which looked somewhat astonished for a moment.
    “I was sure you would enjoy a hearty country breakfast after a vigorous ride, my lord,” she said—and remembered too late that she was supposed to have thought him still fast asleep in his bed as a result of the country air.
    “Yes, indeed.” He rubbed his hands together again, in apparent glee.
    Was it possible that such a breakfast really did look appetizing to him? She waited with bated breath for him to taste it. But there was another detail to be taken care of without delay.
    “Mr. Jarvey,” she directed, “would you light the fire? His lordship is chilly.”
    The butler bent with agility to the task while Lord Ferdinand watched him. Viola hoped he was not noticing that there was no sign of creaky knees. And then she watched covertly as he speared a kidney with his fork and popped it in his mouth. She could have crowed with glee when he set his knife and fork down with a clatter.
    “The food is cold,” he said in astonishment.
    “Oh, dear.” She looked at him with apologetic concern. “I am so accustomed to it that I did not think to warn you. I daresay the cook prepared your food some time ago and forgot—again—to keep it warm in the oven until you came in. Is that what happened, Mr. Jarvey? Perhaps you would have it warmed up and brought back when it is ready. Will you wait for half an hour or so, my lord?”
    The fire in the hearth crackled to life, and the butler straightened up and took one step forward.
    “No, no.” Lord Ferdinand held up one staying hand. “Never mind. I really do not need such a large breakfast. The toast will do me well enough. Fortunately, toast is appetizing even when cold. Normally I would prefer coffee to ale—perhaps you will remember that tomorrow, Jarvey?” He picked up a slice of toast and bit into it. It made a loud, crunching noise, suggesting to Viola that it was stone cold and crisp enough to smash into smithereens if he accidentally dropped it.
    Viola, glancing toward the fireplace, raised her napkin to her nose and controlled her own reactions until Lord Ferdinand began to cough.
    “Oh, dear,” she said. The fireplace was belching smoke. “There must be a bird's nest in the chimney again. That is forever happening. And it always takes
days
to fetch a sweep to clean it out.” She coughed into her napkin and felt her eyes begin to sting. “There is no chimney