kitchen, he collapsed onto a chair and fought a wave of nausea. “I’d be better at farming than butling.”
“Mercy.” Letty dropped her stirring spoon. “What have you done?”
“Added a bit of my claret to your fine roast.” Dominick grimaced. “And possibly ruined everyone’s appetites.”
“Let me see.” Letty took his hand in both of hers and unwound the cloth.
Blood welled from the gash.
“That’s a bad one, not big, but deep.” She pressed the serviette to the cut again. “Deborah, remove the roast. They’ll have to do with just the fish. Dinah, run for Miss Eckles.”
“Miss Eckles indeed.” Dominick lowered his head to his uninjured hand and started to laugh.
“He’s gone all over funny,” Deborah cried. “Should we make him lie down or something?”
“I’m all right.” Dominick forced himself to be quiet.
He could never explain to the girl how hard he’d been trying to see Miss Eckles, how he’d joked with himself about breaking a leg or catching a fever. He should have simply cut himself earlier and been done with the matter.
“I doubt Miss Eckles will want her Sunday dinner interrupted.” He smelled blood, not Letty’s excellent cooking. His stomach churned.
At least this time the blood belonged to him and not some misguided defender of the guilty.
“Your roast is too tender, Letty,” he said to keep his mind off his throbbing and bleeding hand. “I cut it too hard like the ham.”
“You weren’t distracted by Mrs. Lee?” Deborah tossed over her shoulder as she snatched up the fish platter and headed for the dining room.
The aroma of shrimp stuffed with crab meat wafted past Dominick’s nose. His nostrils flared, and his stomach came close to rebelling. “She’s one to talk,” he grumbled.
“You’re not flattered?” Letty brought a clean serviette to wrap around his hand.
“Of course I’m flattered.” Dominick managed a smile. “I’m human. But I am not in America to commence a liaison with an inappropriate female.”
Except he was a liar. Of course he would start a liaison with an inappropriate female if it served his end.
“And what sort of female would be appropriate?” Letty held his gaze for a moment, then left him to draw a pie from the oven.
Dominick welcomed the distraction from his throbbing hand, if not the topic.
“‘Appropriate’ would be my social equal, of course.” He injected as much flippancy as he could into his tone.
Letty snorted. “Haven’t you worked it out yet, laddie? Deborah and Dinah are your social equals here.”
“But I won’t be here—” He broke off. He didn’t know how long he would be there. Not permanently, that was for certain, and he wouldn’t take an American-born lady back to England with him, even if he had to serve out his four years. He’d already dishonored his family enough.
“Kendall’s likely to send me to a plantation to weed tobacco, or whatever the crop is,” Dominick finished. “I’ve just made amok of his precious dinner with a concession to the Lee family, whoever they are.”
“Never you mind about that.” Letty returned with a cloth soaked in cold water. “This might help. And about Mrs. Downing, she doesn’t care about her family connections. She serves God with her husband, not politicians.”
“How peculiar.” Dominick grimaced. “I’ve rarely met—”
The dining room door swished open and Deborah swept through. “Everyone is concerned about you, Mr. Cherrett. Shall I tell them you are in good hands?”
He would be. Soft little hands with long, narrow fingers. If she ever got there. If she got there before the spots in his eyes turned to total blackness.
It was just a little cut. A little cut with a lot of blood and even more pain. After all his knife throwing with his uncle, he’d cut himself on a mere carving knife.
But the sight of Tabitha Eckles striding through the doorway made the injury worth every throbbing moment. She wore a plain blue gown and
“Mercy.” Letty dropped her stirring spoon. “What have you done?”
“Added a bit of my claret to your fine roast.” Dominick grimaced. “And possibly ruined everyone’s appetites.”
“Let me see.” Letty took his hand in both of hers and unwound the cloth.
Blood welled from the gash.
“That’s a bad one, not big, but deep.” She pressed the serviette to the cut again. “Deborah, remove the roast. They’ll have to do with just the fish. Dinah, run for Miss Eckles.”
“Miss Eckles indeed.” Dominick lowered his head to his uninjured hand and started to laugh.
“He’s gone all over funny,” Deborah cried. “Should we make him lie down or something?”
“I’m all right.” Dominick forced himself to be quiet.
He could never explain to the girl how hard he’d been trying to see Miss Eckles, how he’d joked with himself about breaking a leg or catching a fever. He should have simply cut himself earlier and been done with the matter.
“I doubt Miss Eckles will want her Sunday dinner interrupted.” He smelled blood, not Letty’s excellent cooking. His stomach churned.
At least this time the blood belonged to him and not some misguided defender of the guilty.
“Your roast is too tender, Letty,” he said to keep his mind off his throbbing and bleeding hand. “I cut it too hard like the ham.”
“You weren’t distracted by Mrs. Lee?” Deborah tossed over her shoulder as she snatched up the fish platter and headed for the dining room.
The aroma of shrimp stuffed with crab meat wafted past Dominick’s nose. His nostrils flared, and his stomach came close to rebelling. “She’s one to talk,” he grumbled.
“You’re not flattered?” Letty brought a clean serviette to wrap around his hand.
“Of course I’m flattered.” Dominick managed a smile. “I’m human. But I am not in America to commence a liaison with an inappropriate female.”
Except he was a liar. Of course he would start a liaison with an inappropriate female if it served his end.
“And what sort of female would be appropriate?” Letty held his gaze for a moment, then left him to draw a pie from the oven.
Dominick welcomed the distraction from his throbbing hand, if not the topic.
“‘Appropriate’ would be my social equal, of course.” He injected as much flippancy as he could into his tone.
Letty snorted. “Haven’t you worked it out yet, laddie? Deborah and Dinah are your social equals here.”
“But I won’t be here—” He broke off. He didn’t know how long he would be there. Not permanently, that was for certain, and he wouldn’t take an American-born lady back to England with him, even if he had to serve out his four years. He’d already dishonored his family enough.
“Kendall’s likely to send me to a plantation to weed tobacco, or whatever the crop is,” Dominick finished. “I’ve just made amok of his precious dinner with a concession to the Lee family, whoever they are.”
“Never you mind about that.” Letty returned with a cloth soaked in cold water. “This might help. And about Mrs. Downing, she doesn’t care about her family connections. She serves God with her husband, not politicians.”
“How peculiar.” Dominick grimaced. “I’ve rarely met—”
The dining room door swished open and Deborah swept through. “Everyone is concerned about you, Mr. Cherrett. Shall I tell them you are in good hands?”
He would be. Soft little hands with long, narrow fingers. If she ever got there. If she got there before the spots in his eyes turned to total blackness.
It was just a little cut. A little cut with a lot of blood and even more pain. After all his knife throwing with his uncle, he’d cut himself on a mere carving knife.
But the sight of Tabitha Eckles striding through the doorway made the injury worth every throbbing moment. She wore a plain blue gown and
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