To Catch an Heiress
“I beg your pardon?”
“I have this terrible habit, you see.”
“Just one?”
“Just one that would offend you, sir,” she shot back, her tone not particularly nice. “When I take tea with other people, I tend to converse with them. And when I converse with people, I'm likely to do so in a polite and friendly manner. And when then happens—”
“Sarcasm doesn't become you.”
“And when that happens,” she continued in a louder voice, “the strangest thing occurs. Not all the time, mind you, and probably not with you, Mr. Ravenscroft, but I'm sure you wouldn't like to chance it.”
“Chance what?”
“Why, becoming friends with me.”
“Oh, for the love of God,” he muttered.
“Just push the tea service toward me, if you please.”
Blake stared at her for a moment before doing as she asked.
“Would you like a cup to take with you?”
“No,” he said perversely. “I'll stay.”
“The consequences could be deadly.”
“It seems to me that the consequences could be even deadlier to my furnishings if I leave you alone.”
Caroline glared at him and slammed a teacup into a saucer. “Milk?”
“Yes. No sugar. And do try to be gentle with the china. It's a family heirloom. Now that I think of it…”
“Now that you think of what?” she snapped.
“I really should do something about the mess on the carpet.”
“I'd clean it up myself,” she said sweetly, “but you've ordered me not to help around the house.”
Blake ignored her as he stood up and crossed to the open door. “Perriwick!” he bellowed.
Perriwick materialized as if Blake had conjured him. “Yes, Mr. Ravenscroft?”
“Our guest had a slight accident,” Blake said, waving his hand toward the wet spot on the carpet.
“Our invisible guest, you mean?”
Caroline watched the butler with undisguised interest. All Blake did was say, “I beg your pardon?”
“If I might be so bold as to make a deduction based upon your behavior of the past few days, Mr. Ravenscroft—”
“Just get to the point, Perriwick.”
“You clearly did not want it to be made public that Miss…ah…Miss…er…shall we call her Miss Invisible—”
“Miss Trent,” Caroline supplied helpfully.
“—Miss Trent is here.”
“Yes, well, she's here, and that's that,” Blake said irritatedly. “You needn't pretend you don't see her.”
“Oh, no, Mr. Ravenscroft, she is clearly visible now.”
“Perriwick, one of these days I am going to strangle you.”
“I do not doubt it, sir. But may I be so bold as to—”
“What, Perriwick?”
“I merely wanted to inquire as to whether Miss Trent's visit to Seacrest Manor is now meant to be made public.”
“No!” Caroline answered, loudly. “That is, I would prefer you keep this information to yourself. At least for the next few weeks.”
“Of course,” Perriwick replied with a smart bow. “Now, if you will excuse me, I will see to the mishap.”
“Thank you, Perriwick,” Blake said.
“If I might be so bold, Mr. Ravenscroft—”
“What is it now, Perriwick?”
“I merely wished to suggest that you and Miss Trent might be more comfortable having your tea in another room while I tidy this one.”
“Oh, he's not having tea with me,” Caroline said.
“Yes, I am,” Blake ground out.
“I don't see why. You yourself said you didn't want to have anything to do with me.”
“That's not entirely true,” Blake shot back. “I very much enjoy crossing you.”
“Yes, that much is clear.”
Perriwick's head bobbed back and forth like a spectator at a badminton match, and then the old man actually smiled.
“You!” Blake snapped, pointing at Perriwick. “Be quiet.”
Perriwick's hand went to his heart in a dramatic gesture of dismay. “If I might be so—”
“Perriwick, you're the boldest damned butler in England, and you well know it.”
“I merely intended,” the butler replied, looking rather smug, “to ask if you would like me to remove the tea service to another room. I did suggest that you might be more comfortable elsewhere, if you recall.”
“That is an excellent idea, Perriwick,” Caroline said with a blinding smile.
“Miss Trent, you are clearly a woman of superior manners, good humor, and a fine mind.”
“Oh, for the love of God,” Blake muttered.
“Not to mention,” Perriwick continued, “excellent taste and refinement. Were you responsible for the lovely rearrangement of our garden yesterday?”
“Yes, I was,” she said, delighted. “Did you like the new layout?”
“Miss Trent, it clearly reflected the hand of one with a rare sense of the aesthetic, true brilliance, and just a touch of whimsy.”
Blake looked as if he might happily boot his butler clear to London. “Perriwick, Miss Trent is not a candidate for sainthood.”
“Sadly, no,” Perriwick admitted. “Not, however, that I have ever considered the church to be of impeccable judgment. When I think of some of the people they've sainted, why, I—”
Caroline's laughter filled the room. “Perriwick, I think I love you. Where have you been all of my life?”