I’m a mistress.
“Mamma! There is a carriage pulling in the driveway,” Mary said, peeking through the small window of the kitchens. She paused in the kneading of the dough and glanced at their mother.
“A carriage? Oh, dear me,” her mother fussed. “It could be Squire Elkins and his daughter. I saw them at the butcher, and the squire hinted they might stop by for dinner. Everything has been so dreary for that family since his wife died.” She pushed aside their curtain and peeked. “Upon my word, I do believe it to be the Marquess of Ambrose!”
The knife clattered from Lily’s hand, the carrots she had been chopping forgotten. Why was Oliver there? She had left him at Belgrave Manor with the promise to return in a few days. Had something happened with the marchioness? Hurrying from around the worktable, she went to the water and basin and washed her hands.
“He’s coming up to the door,” Mary Rose gasped, her eyes rounding.
Their mother rushed from the kitchen. Lily untied her apron, balled it up, and dropped it on the counter before hurrying behind her mother into the small parlor where her father took his afternoon tea.
“What is it, my dears?”
“Lord Ambrose is coming to call,” Mamma said, looking harried and excited in equal measure. Moving with quick efficiency, she fluffed the cushions on the sofa and put away her sewing basket and needles. “Mary, dear, put on the kettle and slice up the cake.”
“The one for dinner?”
“Mary!”
Biting back her grin, Mary scampered away to do their mother’s bidding.
A few moments later, a knock sounded. Squaring her shoulders, her mother left the parlor and then returned with Oliver. His eyes swept the small and tidy parlor before settling on Lily with such wonderful intensity. She blushed, certain her parents would correctly assess their tendre.
Papa bowed. “Lord Ambrose, it is an honor to have you in our home.”
“Forgive me for calling so unexpectedly.”
“Not at all,” Mamma replied, turning on her heel to face the marquess. Lily knew the entire neighborhood would talk about this visit for weeks and her mother’s importance would soar.
Lily stepped forward and faltered. How had she not noticed his jacket was grass stained and there was a tear in his trousers? “My lord! What happened? You are a mess.”
“I raced with Radbourne along the lanes, and a dog appeared in the path. It is all murky, but I crashed my curricle.”
“Good heavens, are you well?”
He gave the barest ghost of a smile, his gaze alarmingly intent upon her. “More so than I have ever been. For you see, I realize what a damn fool I’d been,” Oliver said softy, his expression tender, and far too intimate with their watchful audience.
“A fool, my lord?”
He stepped closer. “A damn fool, Lily.”
She endured a strange ache in her heart, and how Lily wished to rush to him and confirm that he was indeed well.
Mary Rose entered carrying a tray with cake and tea and placed it on their small walnut table. Oliver shifted and dipped his head in acknowledgment of her sister, and it was then Lily saw the blood at his temple.
“You’re bleeding,” Lily said, hurrying over to him, uncaring of her family’s avidly curious and fascinated stares.
“It’s nothing,” he said smiling.
She glared at the blood pooling along his neckline. Clearly the accident addled his senses. “You have gone daft. We must return you home at once and summon the doctor. Or may I send for my brother-in-law, Dr. David Evans? He is our village doctor, and he is quite knowledgeable and proficient.”
He placed a finger under her chin and lifted her gaze to his. His touch, so light it was barely a breath
of sensation, seemed to pierce her like an arrow. Her breath caught at the mix of emotions chasing his handsome features—hope, a hint of fear, and something that looked frightfully like love.
“Lily?”
A fine tremble went through her body. “Yes?”