A Gentleman Never Tells by Eloisa James Page B

cooked. According to Joshua, they also ate them at picnics. At any rate, when Cat married, she took the hint and gave Sunflower to our butler as a goodbye present.”
    â€œWas this a popular gift?”
    â€œAbsolutely. Sunflower came with a large fund for purchasing seeds and berries, and Joshua threw in two bottles of excellent brandy. So Sunflower lived a long and happy life in the butler’s pantry—­which was only a matter of another year or so.”
    â€œShe was a lucky dormouse to find herself on sufferance in a butler’s pantry.”
    â€œIndeed,” Lizzie agreed. “I do think that Cat should have told you that Lord and Lady Mayne were among her guests. It would be rather shocking, I imagine, to come face-­to-­face without preparation.”
    Mr. Berwick shrugged. “I had intended to make my apologies to both ladies. It appears that fate has determined I do so expeditiously.”
    â€œI’m sure Cat told you how grateful she is that her first season went awry. If she hadn’t been sent home in disgrace, she wouldn’t have met delicious Joshua.”
    â€œ ‘Delicious Joshua’?”
    Lizzie nodded. “That’s what she calls him.” Her brother-­in-­law was leaning toward his wife, and as they watched, he dropped a kiss on her cheek. He wasn’t nearly as good-­looking as Mr. Berwick—­but then, very few men were.
    â€œI suppose if you like that beard,” Mr. Berwick said, with the faintest touch of doubt in his voice.
    She didn’t, but she couldn’t say so without making it sound as if she were flirting. Which she was not doing. “Would you like to practice your apology?” she asked.
    â€œI beg your pardon?”
    He really had the most marvelous way of concentrating on the person he was speaking to. It made Lizzie feel as if she might do something utterly silly, like burst into giggles. Or pull a dormouse out of her pocket to amuse him.
    Lack of mice made the last option difficult, so she said, “Practice your apology. I could play the part of the sausage. I mean,” she said hastily, “the Countess of Mayne.”
    â€œI couldn’t possibly practice in public,” Mr. Berwick said. He had a sort of severe elegance about him that kept tricking Lizzie into thinking he was falling into a bad humor.
    But he wasn’t. If she looked at his eyes, rather than at the patrician cast of his cheekbones and hard jaw, she discovered he was amused. In fact, he had an open face. And an open manner.
    She had the idea that if he became angry, you’d know right away.
    It was a much better way of living than bottling everything up inside because there was no way to inform Adrian of her feelings.
    At the head of the table, Cat was standing, so Mr. Berwick brought Lizzie to her feet, tucked her arm under his elbow, and said, “I would be very grateful if you would allow me to rehearse my apology, Lady Troutt. Perhaps we can find a quiet corner in the drawing room.”
    Part of Lizzie—­the quiet, contemplative part of her—­thought this was a very bad idea. A different part of her thought that any reason to be alone with Mr. Berwick was a wonderful idea.
    A fizzy, dizzyingly good idea, in fact.
    Since the quiet part of Lizzie was never very good at speaking up, she gulped and allowed herself to be led into the drawing room.

 
    Chapter Eight
    S O FAR, O LIVER had had little success making Cat’s sister laugh. On the other hand, he hadn’t unleashed any jokes—­mostly because he couldn’t remember any. He’d made a mental note to ask Hattie for a joke or two, but he had no faith that would do the trick.
    At the moment, he was simply focused on not allowing Lizzie Troutt to escape and flee to her room.
    He had the distinct impression that she wanted to go back to her reading and forget about him. She was unnerved. He could see it in her eyes but