A Gentleman Never Tells by Eloisa James Page A

I’ve met you.”
    She could feel her cheeks turning pink, so she said hastily, “More ­people will arrive for the house party tomorrow.”
    â€œI’m not very good at small talk. Perhaps I will pretend to be your personal footman. I can make sure you are given something edible.”
    Lizzie looked down and realized with surprise that she’d eaten an entire slice of tart. A footman bowed and offered a serving of cod drowned in white sauce. Her stomach lurched at the smell of heavy cream and fish.
    Mr. Berwick shook his head. “Lady Troutt doesn’t want it,” he told the footman. “Ask Bartleby to have the cook poach a small fillet and serve it with lemon.”
    She loved simple fish dishes, but it was a bit unnerving to find that Mr. Berwick guessed as much.
    Lizzie drank some more wine. She couldn’t complain, though he was awfully high-­handed.
    He didn’t seem to feel the need to chatter, which was also nice.
    â€œDid my sister inform you about who arrives tomorrow?” she asked.
    â€œI gather Mr. Benjamin Jagger will join us.” His face was noncommittal, but she had a distinct impression that he didn’t approve. It was like being in a carriage and glimpsing a lake iced over: one could see the effect of the chill but not feel it.
    â€œWhy don’t you like him?” she asked.
    â€œI do like him.” It seemed to be an honest answer. And yet . . .
    She pursued her lips and was rather amused to see that his eyes followed the movement. He actually gave himself a little shake before he looked back at her eyes. Adrian had said her mouth was too large. In fact, he said several times that it was unfortunate, given his last name, that he married a woman with trout lips.
    For some reason the memory didn’t bother her this time.
    â€œYou do not like Mr. Jagger,” she said. “I can tell by your face.”
    â€œNonsense,” Mr. Berwick said in a growly sort of voice. “Jagger is a solid fellow. I appreciate his good qualities. I just don’t think he’s appropriate company for ladies.”
    He took a bite of his fish. “You needn’t worry. I will keep him away from you.”
    Lizzie liked his assumption that Mr. Jagger would pay her attention. “But has Cat told you all the guests who will arrive tomorrow?”
    â€œNo.”
    He sounded supremely uninterested.
    Oh dear. Cat really ought to have warned him. “My sister’s closest friend is the Countess of Mayne,” Lizzie said. Then she waited.
    His lips tightened. “That is a rather extraordinary coincidence,” he said, finally.
    â€œI believe that the countess’s sobriquet was the ‘Scottish Sausage,’ ” Lizzie said, deciding that there was no point in obfuscating the subject.
    He nodded silently.
    â€œIf it helps,” she said, impulsively touching his right hand. “My sister truly wasn’t distressed by the nickname she was given. She is a tremendously happy person, as you can see.”
    They both looked at Cat, shining at the top of the table, laughing at something her stepdaughter had said. “She’s very good at being happy,” Lizzie added. “When we were growing up, she often made Papa laugh by doing something frightfully silly. She used to keep a dormouse in her pocket and bring it out at dinner.”
    Mr. Berwick threw her a wary look. “Does she keep them around her person to this day? I have no particular fondness for rodents.”
    Lizzie grinned at him. “My brother-­in-­law knows just how to handle her. When she first showed Joshua her dormouse—­who was named Sunflower—­he went on and on about how the ancient Romans used to dip dormice in honey and poppy seeds and eat them for dessert.”
    When Mr. Berwick laughed, his eyes lightened to the color of an early morning sky. “Cooked or uncooked?” he inquired.
    â€œI would assume