Sweet Rogue of Mine (The Survivors #9) - Shana Galen Page 0,89

life. She had spent the better part of the week at Wentmore, making certain the estate was ready for the upcoming festivities. Mr. Payne had the workmen and the landscaping well in hand, so Pru spent a great deal of time in the kitchens with Mrs. Brown and Mrs. Blimkin, planning the menu and the activities. Certain games, like bobbing for apples, were tradition, as were certain dishes. Mrs. Blimkin assured everyone the villagers would bake pies and cakes and bring their best savory dishes to share. But being that the event was to be held at Wentmore, where few had visited in over a decade, the autumn festival would be attended by even more people than usual. Mrs. Blimkin insisted Wentmore provide a dozen or more dishes to ensure no one left hungry.

“Where is that wretched Clopdon?” Mrs. Blimkin asked after surveying the newly repaired kitchens to be certain all was ready for the real work—the cooking that would begin tomorrow. “I sent him to inventory the tablecloths an hour ago.”

Pru’s eyes had glazed over at an argument about tarts versus cobblers, but now she jumped to her feet. “Shall I go look for him and ascertain his progress?”

“Oh, would you, dear?” Mrs. Brown asked. “My old feet would thank you to save me another trip up the stairs today.”

“Of course! I’ll go right now.” She turned and practically ran for the stairs. She had no real expectation of finding the valet. He had made it clear he was not a butler and loath to do any sort of fetching and carrying or, for that matter, supervising of the footmen. His one task, he claimed, was to ensure Mr. Pope looked his best, and Pru could not argue that he was accomplishing that admirably.

She had yet to catch more than a glimpse of Nash today, and she’d been waiting for the chance to sneak away and spend a few private moments—or perhaps more than a few—with him. Lately they’d been meeting in the butler’s pantry. It was right off the stairs leading down to the kitchens, so a bit of a risk but, as there was no butler, safer than many other areas of the house. Pru would slip into the room, and Nash would grab her about the waist and kiss her until they were both breathless.

Now she practically ran up the stairs and dashed into the butler’s pantry but found it empty. Frowning, she went into the dining room, but it was empty as well. She moved into the foyer and spotted Clopdon coming down the stairs, his arms full of linen. He gave her a warning look. “If you have come on behalf of that termagant to ask me to do some menial task—”

“I haven’t,” Pru said quickly. Perhaps she could count the tablecloths herself... “I was looking for Mr. Pope. Is he in his chamber?”

“He is not. I caught him earlier and forced him to submit to the tortures of my measuring tape. God forbid we have a coat that fits him properly on Saturday.”

“I have no doubt he will look very well at the festival.”

“No thanks to Mr. Payne who seems to think it acceptable to agree to host large events without even a week’s notice.”

“Well, if anyone is up to the task, Clopdon, it’s you.”

“Flattery is always appreciated, Miss Howard. Now I must scuttle away before that harridan finds me and asks me to count silver or some such nonsense.”

“Of course.” Pru watched him walk away, still wondering where Nash might be. She could try the parlor. She started that way when the front door opened, and Nash himself, followed by the vicar, entered.

Pru’s smile at seeing Nash turned to a look of surprise at spotting Mr. Higginbotham. “Ah, there you are, Miss Howard,” the vicar said. Nash paused and looked about him until he found her. Pru’s entire body warmed when his gaze touched her. Even though he’d told her he could only see vague shapes and outlines, she knew he was more than familiar with her shape.

“Yes, I’m here. Good day, Mr. Pope. Mr. Higginbotham. I didn’t expect to see you, sir.”

“Well, my housekeeper seems to have taken up residence here, so it is here I must come if I wish a decent meal.”

Pru knew Mrs. Blimkin made sure to leave meals for the vicar every morning and evening, so this was a flimsy excuse. No doubt, the vicar was as curious as everyone else in the village about Wentmore and