When Good Earls Go Bad: A Victorian Valentine's Day Novella by Megan Frampton Page A

today.”
    “Oh!” she said, snatching her hand back and stuffing them into her pockets. “You are very observant, even if you think two completely different cities are similar to one another.” She stuck her tongue out at him quickly, then clapped her hand over her mouth, her eyes wide. “I am so sorry, I should not have done that.”
    Matthew tried to keep himself from smiling, but couldn’t, not in the face of such . . . joy. She was practically overflowing with it, and he wished he could figure out a way to capture some of that joy for himself. “I am not offended at all; in fact my sisters would be applauding you right now.” He spoke in a lower tone. “I am very glad they are not here for that very reason.” Not to mention he was definitely liking being alone with her, and wasn’t that another surprise?
    “Shall we go?” Matthew said, signaling to the man behind the bar. He made the “final bill” gesture, then drew out a few coins from his pocket and laid them on the table.
    The barkeep came bustling over, an obsequious smile on his face. “Four shillings, my lord.”
    Matthew counted out the four shillings, then rose from his seat.
    The barkeep picked up the coins, scowling. “You’re Scottish, aren’t you?” he said in an accusing tone.
    Why did that keep coming up?
    Matthew didn’t bother to reply, just strode around to Miss Tyne’s side of the table and took her cloak, holding it up so she could put it on.
    As she wriggled into it, her arm brushed his side, and Matthew felt something very unexpected indeed.
    Something he wished to expect more of, and hopefully in the near future.

 
    A Belle’s Guide to Household Management
    When asked to put Holland covers on the furniture to protect it while the members of the household are away, do not assume that you may only use covers made in Holland or that the covers are meant to cover the country in question.

CHAPTER SEVEN
    A nnabelle preceded him from the pub, the happy warmth of the food they’d eaten warring with the uneasy feeling that he was about to ask her why she was his housekeeper if she wasn’t a housekeeper at all.
    “Are you going to tell me?” he asked in a conspiratorial tone as he drew alongside her.
    “Tell you what?” she replied, even though she knew perfectly well what it was, and she was just stalling.
    He chuckled, and she realized she hadn’t heard him laugh yet. Not that they’d been acquainted all that long, but generally, if the people she met were friendly and relatively conversational, she was able to make them at least laugh a little bit. Him, not a whit. He had smiled, and had almost smiled a few times more than that, and he had definitely made a witty remark, but he hadn’t laughed.
    She liked the sound of it. A lot. She wanted him to laugh more. For her.
    “Tell me what you are if you are not a housekeeper.”
    Annabelle tilted her head up to look at him. “I am also not a lion tamer. Despite how ferocious you might seem.” That surprised a quick smile from him. And encouraged her to continue. “I am also not a princess, a haberdasher, a scullery maid, a cook.”
    “Obviously,” he interjected.
    “A butcher, a carriage driver, a . . . let me see, what else am I not?”
    She hadn’t noticed, but somehow she’d taken his arm, and was leaning on it as they walked. It felt so comfortable and yet also caused a tingling sensation throughout her entire body.
    “Perhaps you are the Queen?” He drew away and gave her an appraising look. “No, you are far too frivolous. Although if you had food in your teeth it wouldn’t matter because it would be you who would possibly be bothered by it.” He frowned, as though in confusion. “Now I am using your logic.” He shook his head. “Only a few hours in your presence, Miss Tyne, and I am overwhelmed.”
    Was that a compliment?
    “The only thing I do know, Miss Tyne, is that you are not a housekeeper. Tell me. Are you also not a Miss? Is there a Mr. Tyne