The Earl's Snow-Kissed Proposal
‘It’s OK, Etta.’
‘No. It isn’t. That was unprofessional and wrong...’
‘It wasn’t. It was a kiss. Between two consenting adults who are attracted to each other. It wasn’t wrong. It was a kiss to show you that you aren’t missing a gene.’
Etta shook her head, swiped her hand across her mouth. ‘I want to forget this ever happened.’
* * *
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The day of the fair dawned cold and crisp. Etta woke up and assessed the weather with relief. The sky was clear—a bright blue studded with the cotton wisp of a few clouds. It would be cold, but there would be no need to move everything inside.
Swinging her legs out of bed, she let her brain list her extensive to-do list.
On the list was meeting Kaitlin Derwent. Gabe’s sister would fly in early the next day. Curiosity resurfaced as to why Gabe wanted to keep the new family tree secret from his sister. Surely that took the idea of a surprise present a step too far? Not that Etta would ask him—she had gone out of her way to avoid any non-work-related conversation with him since The Kiss.
Mortification still roiled through her tummy at the memory—how could she have kissed him like that? A sheer cascade of desire had overwhelmed every iota of sense and she had given in, lost perspective and thrown self-respect aside. Stupid. And worse was the fact that for Gabe it had been nothing more than an object lesson, to show her that she could feel passion. Well, Etta didn’t want to feel passion—or at least not on that scale. It was too much, too dizzying, too everything.
Thank goodness that in two days she’d be out of here—away from Gabe and his ability to unsettle her. Instead she’d be on board a cruise ship, reunited with Cathy.
Excitement fizzed inside her, but like it or not it was underlain with a soupçon of sadness. A sadness she always felt at the end of a project. The second she saw her daughter again all thoughts of Derwent Manor, family trees and especially Gabe Derwent would flee her brain. She knew it. It had to be like that. She couldn’t let passion overcome family bonds ever again. Especially now. Because once the euphoria of seeing Cathy faded she needed to explain the relocation plan to her daughter.
Fifteen minutes later there was the familiar knock on the door that heralded Gabe.
‘Morning. You all set for the day?’
As ever, no sign of tension was on display, and not for the first time she envied his ability to surf over all circumstances with unshakable confidence. The same confidence that meant he appeared to have had no problem whitewashing The Kiss from his memory banks. Not that it had been a capital letter event in his opinion—and that thought intensified her humiliation a hundred fold.
‘Ready and looking forward to it.’
* * *
A few hours later and the fair was in full swing; Etta gazed round at the incredible display on offer. It was easy to believe that she’d stepped back in time.
Inside the manor, the staff were kitted out as Victorian servants. Parlour maids in simple black dresses, chambermaids in print dresses, both complete with frilled apron and cap, bustled about, engaged in their household tasks, and they were all able to discuss the duties expected of servants in the Victorian era.
Sarah reigned supreme in the hustle and bustle of the kitchen, in the throes of the preparation of a lavish Christmas dinner. The scents were evocative of Christmas—cranberries bubbling over the fire, the aroma of chestnut, sugar and candied fruit mingling with the savoury scent of roast turkey and freshwater smelt. Families watched and asked eager questions.
Etta glanced round and saw the lengthening queue for Christmas punch. It looked as if they needed some help.
As she approached the table Eileen, a teenage girl from the village school who’d volunteered her services, smiled in relief. ‘It’s manic! I’m not allowed to handle the rum, and my mum came over all faint, and...and...’
‘You’re doing a grand job. Hand over a spare pinny and a hat and I’ll get mixing.’
Soon enough the good-natured jostle of the queue became manageable, with everyone happy to hand over the cost for a plastic cup of Roman Punch—a judicious mix of rum and lemon and near frozen dissolved sugar.
‘I’d better move on,’ Etta said as she saw Gabe gesturing to her to follow him.
‘Thank you for that,’ he said as they exited the kitchen.
He smiled down at her and the world seemed to shrink. The sounds of the fair faded and his smile warmed her, curled her toes, and that wretched kiss sprang to the forefront of her mind. His eyes darkened, the same way they had when they’d locked lips, and a stupid feeling of gratification streamed through her veins at the knowledge that just maybe he did remember those magical moments.
Hold it together. Even if Gabe had been affected it would not be a smart move to grab the man and have a replay.
‘No problem. It’s the least I can do.’
As they stepped outside into the crisp air she gestured around.