Wedded in Scandal

She read it twice, her heart pounding harder and harder with each word.

Dribbs: I would like Mrs. Mortimer to dine with the family beginning immediately.

She looked up at the butler, her mind blanked of anything but dismay. “He couldn’t,” she whispered.

Dribbs nodded, his expression grave. “Yes, ma’am, he did.”

“But I’m just a dressmaker. I’m not—”

“I will remind you that in this household, we follow his lordship’s requests to the letter.”

Helaine stared at Dribbs, at a complete loss. First of all, she absolutely knew that he did not follow his lordship’s requests to the exact letter. Second of all, servants did not dine with the masters, even in unusual households. And third…third was Dribbs himself. He was acting so completely strange. She could not get a handle on his mood. One moment she thought he was laughing at her; the next moment he seemed beyond stern.

“Mr. Dribbs, I don’t know what to say.”

“Say nothing then,” he quipped. “As you are to dine with the family, I have brought you here to make sure you do not disgrace my table.”

She did not quibble with his claim that it was his table. She knew that servants often felt more pride of ownership than the masters themselves did.

“I will do my best not to shame you,” she managed.

“Well, you must have some instruction. If you are to dine with the family, you must make sure to do so as a lady who deserves to be there, always cognizant that you are eating with the children of an earl.”

She didn’t know how to answer that. After all, she was the daughter of an earl herself. She knew how to act like a lady. If anything, she had to remember to add a coarseness to her manners so as not to expose herself.

“I, um, I shall try to remember,” she said.

“Good. Now pray pick up that bun.”

She looked at the man, her mind stuttering. He wanted her to pick up the roll? And not eat it? He waited, his eyebrow lifted, as she slowly reached out and gently lifted up the bun.

“Do not grab it as if you were handling meat. Touch it gently, delicately between two fingers.”

Two fingers? But it was a rather large bun. Still, she did as he bade.

“And raise the smaller fingers like so.” He fluted his fingers, holding them up before her eyes so that she could mimic him.

She glanced at him and managed a slow nod as she grasped the bun between thumb and forefinger then extended the smaller of her digits. It was incredibly awkward, and her fingers were growing stiff, but she managed it.

“Excellent. Now take a bite. Mind, not a meat pie type of bite, but delicate little nips—like a lady—along the edge. And don’t forget to keep your other fingers extended.”

She frowned. Did he truly think ladies ate like this? Tiny nips and bizarre hand positions? She’d never done anything so ridiculous in her entire life. But she was starving and he was asking that she eat—or nip—at some food, so she tried to do it. She opened her mouth to bite. It really was a large bun.

“Not so wide! You’re not a cow. Lips closed. Lips closed, I say!”

Lips closed? How did one eat with one’s lips closed? She narrowed her mouth.

“Smaller! Smaller! You are a lady, and ladies don’t really eat.”

She couldn’t stop herself from glaring at him. Damn it, she was hungry! She was trying to do what he wanted and still get some food, but it was impossible. She thought she had it. Indeed, she managed to get the bun all the way to her lips without dropping it. But then before she could take the smallest bite, he abruptly reached forward and pulled the bun from her hand. It was easy for him, of course, because she was only holding on to it with two fingers.

“Excellent!” he said. “Now on to the tea.”

Her stomach grumbled in response, and it was all she could do not to snatch the thing back in her fist and shove it into her mouth. Meanwhile, he was gesturing to the tea as he poured her a steaming cup.

She inhaled the stiff brew with gratitude. A bracing drink of that would indeed help her enormously. Without thinking, she reached for the cup.

“Tut-tut-tut! You are a lady, remember? Ladies do not pick up their teacups.”

“What?” Of course ladies picked up their teacups.

“They lift them with the power of their beauty and their poise. A cup does not rest in their hands so much as float there.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“It’s true!” he cried.

“Of course it’s not!” she snapped.

She had meant to be circumspect. She had meant to keep her eyes lowered and stick to her place as a servant in this household. But to be instructed like this by the butler was beyond humiliating. Especially since everything he said was utter claptrap! And whereas Mrs. Mortimer knew to nod and keep her mouth shut, Lady Helaine was not so easily subdued. And it was the lady she once was who snatched the teacup from the table and all but threw it at Dribbs.

“Ladies do not float their food into their mouths!” she said as she stood, teacup in hand. “With their lips shut! They are human just like you and I. Have you never met Lady Cassandra? The only lovely thing about her is her name. And she eats like her barbarian father. With her fist, like this!”

So saying, she grabbed hold of the bun and held it aloft like a palmed apple, which she then shoved straight at her open lips. She bit down on a huge mouthful and was promptly rewarded with the taste of Cook’s wonderful baking. Her eyes slid to half closed and she was so enthralled with the taste that she nearly missed Dribbs’s next words.

“Well, then! Can I presume that you are uninterested in learning the proper grip for a spoon?”

She almost answered what she would like to do to him with her spoon. And the knife, too, but at that moment, something sparked in her brain. Perhaps it was finally getting some food, perhaps it was the way Dribbs’s eyes were crinkled at the edges. Crinkled as if he were smiling. Or perhaps holding back laughter. Her hand with the bun slipped away from her mouth.

“Good God, you are teasing me,” she whispered.

“Of course I am, Lady Helaine. Forgive me, but I couldn’t resist.”

Lady Helaine? Her knees went out and she collapsed back onto the settee. He knew who she was. Meanwhile, Dribbs pulled the teacup from her hand and set it back on the table to refill it, as she had spilled most of it during her tirade.

“You cannot know,” she whispered. “Robert would not have told you!”

Dribbs pressed the hot teacup into her trembling hands before she completely lost herself to panic. “His lordship did not say a word, but your breeding shines through. And if I might explain: your father and the current earl were sometimes companions. They both love the brandy, you see.”

She closed her eyes, all too afraid of what was coming.

“This was back when the earl resided here, you understand. Before Lord Redhill asked him to remove to his club.”

Yes, she knew Robert had thrown his father out of the house. How many times had she wished she could do the same to her own father? And yet a moment later, she would desperately long to see him again.

“One evening, your father was part of an impromptu party thrown by the earl. It went on quite late.”

“I’m sure it went on until you poured my father into a carriage and sent him home.”

“Well, yes. But did you know that your father could be quite maudlin in his cups?”

She nodded. “Yes. He would declare love for the most ridiculous things.”

“Not so, my lady. He would declare his love for you. He had a miniature he kept in his pocket. Of you. He would draw it out and call you the best of all possible daughters. Patient, kind, and smart as a whip.”

Helaine stared at the butler, her heart in her throat. “I never…he never…” She closed her eyes. Ridiculous to