“Your house is very beautiful. The library, especially.”
When he looked her over from head to toe with a scrutinizing expression, her lungs
were robbed of air. Did he find her lacking?
That she cared was worrisome. She was usually more levelheaded than to fall victim
to a handsome face. But there was a masculinity and prowess to his nature that made
her feel so utterly and foolishly feminine. Like he would catch her if she fell .
. . which he’d already accomplished today.
“You can use any room you desire to do your work. Meals can be brought up to the library,
if that is your preference,” he said.
She looked at the stately room where she sat. It was something out of fairy tales
or a room reserved for the women born into the upper echelon of society. She wasn’t
a fairy-tale princess, and while she was an earl’s daughter, she certainly hadn’t
been born into great riches and privilege. She felt undeserving.
“I couldn’t possibly . . . ” She shook her head. “The rest of the staff might think
less of me if I were given such an advantage.” Staring at a loose thread on her sleeve,
she was unable to voice just how important it was for her to fit in. It wasn’t like
she’d ever lived with a plethora of servants when growing up—only a cook, who also
helped to clean the family cottage where they lived when her father’s health started
to fail some years ago.
After her father’s death, the family finances had plunged to dangerous lows. It didn’t
help that her brother liked to gamble.
The worst thing for her wasn’t the idea of losing her childhood home; it was realizing
just how little her brother thought of her. His debts had amassed so high that in
exchange for clearing them, he had promised her to a man she loathed. A man far crueler
than Sir Ian had been.
She wanted that life far behind her, and in order to do that, she must wholly embrace
her role as a working woman. And a tiny part of her wanted to believe that Mr. Riley
was the man who would give her exactly what she wanted.
Mr. Riley walked over to the entrance and rang the servants’ bell before taking a
seat across from her.
Shyly, she glanced at him from beneath her lashes. Why did she find herself speechless
when he remained broodingly silent? She was normally a better conversationalist than
this.
“What tasks will you have me accomplish today, Mr. Riley?”
A maid interrupted them before he could answer. She was young, not more than sixteen,
and slight. She had a face full of freckles and large brown eyes that gave her an
air of innocence.
“Havin’ yer breakfast here today, Mr. Nick?” The girl’s accent was thick and difficult
to understand.
Amelia recoiled at the common way the maid addressed the master of the house. But
then she realized that Mr. Riley was nothing she would expect of a successful businessman.
And he was nothing like her brother or the men he allowed to stay at her home in Berwick.
“We are. Joshua’s usual will suffice.”
The maid left without bowing.
“Are the staff always so informal?” Her brother would have had the poor girl tossed
out of the house.
“Olive has lived here since she was ten. Then, she was nothing more than a soot-covered,
terrified child. She refused to speak for the first three years in my service, not
even to the other women. I’m glad she found her voice. She can address me any way
she pleases,” he said with a finality that brooked no further questioning.
“How wonderful that she can speak freely without being seen as disobedient.” Amelia
stared at her entwined hands in her lap, not sure if she’d said too much. Everything
he revealed about himself spoke of an admirable and honest man. It was hard to distrust
him.
“You never need fear speaking your mind in this house,” he said gently. “It is something
I encourage.”
This all had to be a dream. She never expected to meet a man like Mr.
When he looked her over from head to toe with a scrutinizing expression, her lungs
were robbed of air. Did he find her lacking?
That she cared was worrisome. She was usually more levelheaded than to fall victim
to a handsome face. But there was a masculinity and prowess to his nature that made
her feel so utterly and foolishly feminine. Like he would catch her if she fell .
. . which he’d already accomplished today.
“You can use any room you desire to do your work. Meals can be brought up to the library,
if that is your preference,” he said.
She looked at the stately room where she sat. It was something out of fairy tales
or a room reserved for the women born into the upper echelon of society. She wasn’t
a fairy-tale princess, and while she was an earl’s daughter, she certainly hadn’t
been born into great riches and privilege. She felt undeserving.
“I couldn’t possibly . . . ” She shook her head. “The rest of the staff might think
less of me if I were given such an advantage.” Staring at a loose thread on her sleeve,
she was unable to voice just how important it was for her to fit in. It wasn’t like
she’d ever lived with a plethora of servants when growing up—only a cook, who also
helped to clean the family cottage where they lived when her father’s health started
to fail some years ago.
After her father’s death, the family finances had plunged to dangerous lows. It didn’t
help that her brother liked to gamble.
The worst thing for her wasn’t the idea of losing her childhood home; it was realizing
just how little her brother thought of her. His debts had amassed so high that in
exchange for clearing them, he had promised her to a man she loathed. A man far crueler
than Sir Ian had been.
She wanted that life far behind her, and in order to do that, she must wholly embrace
her role as a working woman. And a tiny part of her wanted to believe that Mr. Riley
was the man who would give her exactly what she wanted.
Mr. Riley walked over to the entrance and rang the servants’ bell before taking a
seat across from her.
Shyly, she glanced at him from beneath her lashes. Why did she find herself speechless
when he remained broodingly silent? She was normally a better conversationalist than
this.
“What tasks will you have me accomplish today, Mr. Riley?”
A maid interrupted them before he could answer. She was young, not more than sixteen,
and slight. She had a face full of freckles and large brown eyes that gave her an
air of innocence.
“Havin’ yer breakfast here today, Mr. Nick?” The girl’s accent was thick and difficult
to understand.
Amelia recoiled at the common way the maid addressed the master of the house. But
then she realized that Mr. Riley was nothing she would expect of a successful businessman.
And he was nothing like her brother or the men he allowed to stay at her home in Berwick.
“We are. Joshua’s usual will suffice.”
The maid left without bowing.
“Are the staff always so informal?” Her brother would have had the poor girl tossed
out of the house.
“Olive has lived here since she was ten. Then, she was nothing more than a soot-covered,
terrified child. She refused to speak for the first three years in my service, not
even to the other women. I’m glad she found her voice. She can address me any way
she pleases,” he said with a finality that brooked no further questioning.
“How wonderful that she can speak freely without being seen as disobedient.” Amelia
stared at her entwined hands in her lap, not sure if she’d said too much. Everything
he revealed about himself spoke of an admirable and honest man. It was hard to distrust
him.
“You never need fear speaking your mind in this house,” he said gently. “It is something
I encourage.”
This all had to be a dream. She never expected to meet a man like Mr.
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