As if haunted by longing, plagued by a yearning that did not entirely belong to her.
Or maybe it did, what did she know?
Taking one last enormous breath fragranced by her book, she lifted it from her face and let out an embarrassing squeak as the enormous shadow in the doorway startled the tar out of her.
Limbs flailing, she managed to struggle into a proper sitting position, a bit flummoxed to be caught in such a strange and inappropriate posture. Reclined with one leg bent.
“Oh! Mr. Severand… hello.” She smoothed at her hair, her dress, crossed her ankles and pressed her thighs together against that place, hoping to be able to ignore a strange pulse there whilst in his presence.
No such luck.
“Goodness, forgive me! I was… lost in a book and forgot that I’d left the door ajar.”
“Lost?” he echoed in that dark, low timbre that did little to settle the tumult in her belly. Or lower. “It seemed to me you were actively trying to crawl inside it.”
“How I wish I could,” she chuffed breathlessly. “It’s ever so interesting in there, and I have so many unanswered questions.”
As he stood across the room in the doorway, she could more sense than see his discomfiture.
“Have you… changed your mind about supper?” he asked.
“What?”
Shifting, he drifted past the threshold only a few steps. “It’s three quarters past eight, Miss Goode. I wondered if you’d rather reschedule—”
“Oh! Oh dear.” She popped to her feet and spun this way and that, searching the table, the chair, and the carpets for her bookmark. “No, of course, we’ll have dinner directly. You must be starving. I still haven’t recovered my watch or my spectacles so I’m barely a functioning human being.” She could have sworn she left the pressed flower on the arm of her chaise.
“Might I help you find something?” he offered.
“No, thank you.” She peeked behind the settee, finding it frustratingly clean.
“Does your staff not alert you to the meal?”
“They must have forgotten…” She crouched to her knees, searching beneath the chaise, to no avail.
“Is that something your servants are allowed to do? Forget you?”
She stood, shaking out her skirts. Oh, there it was! Somehow, it’d been trapped in her petticoats. Good thing she’d thought to preserve the blossom in wax parchment or it would have disintegrated.
“I don’t run a very tight ship, I’m afraid,” she admitted with only a little chagrin as she reluctantly placed the bookmark against Fabian and Maryanne’s amorous encounter. “The very idea of admonishing my staff causes me— well, I wouldn’t even know how to do it, if I’m honest. Usually, Mrs. Winterton takes care of such things, but I don’t know if she’s returned from seeing to her family. As you can tell, the day quite got away from me.”
He stared at her for a moment, and she read an alarming amount of disapproval in the lines of his posture. The man had dressed for dinner, she noted with approval, donning a white tie, gloves, and waistcoat beneath a jacket large enough to engulf two of her at least.
His tailor must charge extra for material.
“Your companion abandons her post on such a day, without a by-your-leave?”
Felicity puffed out her cheeks. It did sound rather amiss when he said it like that. “She knows I would grant her any leave, especially when a family member is involved.”
Quick steps clacked down the hall as young Billings hauled coal to set by the fires for the night.
Mr. Severand turned and filled the doorway, effectively halting his progress. “Is your mistress’s evening meal prepared?” His question was not a demand or a reproach, but when Gareth Severand spoke— even in such sonorous tones— the authority in his voice was unquestionable.
“It’s um… I’ll ‘ave to check,” Billing’s voice squeaked from that place in between boyhood and youth.
“What industry are you and the rest of your staff in?” Severand asked mildly.
“Service, sir.”
“And whom do you serve?”
“Miss Goode, of course. She’s the lady of the ‘ouse.”
“Then are the staff, as people employed in service, fulfilling the obligation for which they are being recompensed?”
“N-not at present, no.” As the boy still stood in the hall, she couldn’t see his face, but his voice wavered and cracked with shame. “I-I did bring her coal for the fire… that’s my duty, sir, not the kitchens. I’d not see Miss Felicity go cold. Not me. Not ever.”
“Indeed. At least you’re a good lad.” Mr. Severand stepped aside to make enough room for the boy, who tiptoed past the threshold to her parlor.
Scurrying to the fireplace, he abandoned the coal on the hearth and bowed to her.
Twice.
“Forgive the late hour, Miss Felicity. I am confident dinner is being prepared for you directly. But if not, I’ll give ‘em a right kick in the chops, see if I don’t. You shouldn’t go ‘ungry.”
“I very much doubt a kick will be necessary, Billings, but thank you for checking on their progress.” She almost pitied the boy as he scooted out of the room, giving Severand a wide berth.
The man in question stood straight as a royal yeoman. “Forgive me if I was too bold, but it’s important that you are fed. That you maintain your strength, especially considering the stress you’ve been subjected to.”
She lifted a shoulder, oddly touched that her nourishment meant something to him. “You saved me from having to be bold. And, if I’m honest, I am rather hungry.”
Finding his presence intense after she’d only just caught herself harboring inappropriate thoughts about him, Felicity turned to her bookshelf, sliding her novel in its place.
“May I ask what you were reading?” His question was cautious, almost shy, which stymied her.
This man had an air of someone who asked permission from no one. He was built roughly, with barbaric dimensions. He addressed her staff with unerring composure and confidence.
Even when he moved, it was with the motions of a man who claimed the ground he stood upon and dared anyone to challenge that claim. Who owned and carefully chose his actions to flawless effect.
Addressing her, however, seemed to cause him a bit of bother.
“I’m reading The Gilded Sea by Daphne Crane.”
“I’ve not heard of that one,” he admitted, again sounding oddly sheepish.
Damned if it didn’t charm her.
“It’s a romantic adventure,” she pressed on. “I’m positively absorbed.”
“That was evident.”
How long had he watched her? Felicity’s mouth dried at the thought. Could a man as observant as he have noticed the wicked effects her novel wrought upon her?
“A-are you much of a reader, Mr. Severand?”
“I’m voracious.”
That word. In that voice. Dear Lord. She sank back to the chaise, pressing her thighs back together and folding her hands over her lap to keep from squirming.
What was wrong with her?
“What-what is it you read?” she queried, hoping he’d take the conversation so she could recover some of her wits.