Page 55 of It's a British Christmas

Sit in front of her door? He was a duke. Oh, lord, what was she to do? She hugged her middle and wandered around the room, not seeing anything, but hearing his pleading from the other side. She had thought perhaps he was a baron, or maybe, just maybe, a nobleman’s second or third son. Tears formed in her eyes and slid down her cheeks.

“Just go away. Please.” Her voice was low, but he apparently heard her.

“No. Open the door. Just for a minute.”

Where were Mama and Papa? And the duchess? Eve laughed, almost hysterically, at the thought of her parents in their nightclothes receiving the Duchess of Manchester. Would you care for some tea, Your Grace? Please excuse our chipped cups and plates. Oh, dear, where has our cook gone with those fancy scones she does up for us so well?

She threw herself on the bed and sobbed.

A softer knock drew her attention. “Eve, please let me in.” Mama’s comforting voice had her wiping her cheeks and dragging her body to the door. She opened it to Mama, with Adam standing behind her.

“Eve, His Grace wishes to speak with you. Please don’t leave him with an impression of us as being so ill-mannered.”

She felt the flush of embarrassment rise from her middle to her face. Mama was right, she was being rude. To a duke. She nodded and stepped out of the room.

“May I have your permission to escort Miss Allen to the parlor and speak with her there?” Adam bowed respectfully to her mama, as if she were a great lady, and not a lowly villager dressed in her nightgown and cap.

“Yes. I will attend with you, but I will grant you privacy to speak.” She turned and headed down the stairs, followed by Eve, and then Adam. She saw no evidence of the duchess and wondered what happened to her. Oh, yes, most likely she was in the kitchen stirring the pot of stew. Then she chastised herself for being nasty. And judgmental.

Mama took a seat by the door, and Eve walked across the small room and turned to face Adam, her arms crossed over her chest. “Yes?”

“Don’t do this, Eve.”

She raised her eyebrows. “Do what, Your Grace?”

He ran his fingers through his hair, giving her the overwhelming urge to run her fingers through the silky locks herself. She might as well, she’d never get another chance.

“What I’m doing, Your Grace, is granting you an audience so you can say goodbye, thank me for the care, and wish me a wonderful life.” She dropped her hands by her sides. “So I will say it for you. Goodbye, Your Grace, you are welcome for the care, and I hope you have a wonderful life, as well.”

She attempted to step around him, but he stopped her. “No. I want you to come to my London townhouse with me.”

Her mouth dropped open and she stared at him wide-eyed. “Oh, this has gone far enough.” Duke or no, she was seriously considering slapping his noble face. How dare he present her with such an improper offer while Mama stood not twenty feet from them? Was there no honor whatsoever in the man? She huffed. Like all nobles.

“I am serious.”

“Why?” she shot back. “Are you in need of another maid? A cook, perhaps? Or maybe you need someone to polish the silver. But, oh, my, I’ve forgotten how to polish silver, since it’s been absolutely ages since I’ve done that.” She poked him in the chest. “Do not dare to tell me you are looking for me to fulfill an indecent position.” Somewhere in her speech, her anger had turned to anguish, and tears rolled down her cheeks, unchecked.

He reared back as if she had, indeed, slapped him. “I would never make you such a demeaning offer. For goodness sakes, your mother stands not twenty feet from us.”

Despite Mama’s presence, he pulled her into his arms, and cupped her chin, to force her to look at him. She’d never been so embarrassed in her life. Her cheeks were wet, and probably blotchy, and good heavens, her nose was running. She must have presented a perfect picture of polished English womanhood.

Adam glanced over his shoulder at Mama, who she hoped was tactfully gazing at her lap. Somewhere in the background, she heard the duchess giving orders to someone. So, she was still here. Maybe she would like to sleep on the settee in the parlor. Hopefully, their linen closet boasted enough sheets.

“Eve, listen to me. As I told you earlier, this is not over between us. I have no idea how I will work this all out, but I will. I promise you that. I must go to the inn at the village now, and attempt to rein in my mother, who, as you can see, can be quite trying at times. Please tell me you will consider going with me tomorrow.”

“No.” She shook her head vigorously. She didn’t have to think long about that. “It has been very nice, and I enjoyed your company, and playing chess. But it’s over, Your Grace. You go back to your life, and I will continue with mine.”

The duchess’s voice rose and within seconds she was in the room with them. “Manchester, I am waiting. I would like to get to bed sometime this night. Please say your goodbyes so we can depart.” She looked pointedly at Eve. “We must find a decent inn, and I would like to discuss your upcoming wedding with Lady Ann.”

Eve sucked in a deep breath, her wide eyes snapping toward Adam. He was betrothed? Before she thought it through, she pulled back her arm and slapped his face. Then, horrified at what she had done, she ran from the room, up the stairs to her bedchamber. She slammed the door shut, and resting against it, slid to the floor.

You are so many ways a fool, Miss Eve Allen.

What a mess he’d made of things. He climbed into the carriage behind his mother after giving the driver directions to the village inn.

“I will never understand you. Why in heaven’s name would you recover from a wound as serious as a gunshot in a backwoods village with no proper care, no doctor, and a chance of catching God knows what from that house.” The duchess brushed off her gown as if she carried critters with her from the Allens’ extremely clean home.

“Enough, Mother. Reverend Allen and his family were extremely kind to me. If Miss Allen hadn’t come along the road that night, I could very well have expired right there.”