Page 25 of Regency in Color

The Allure of a Reformed Rake

Hildie McQueen

She’s as determined to pursue him as he’s determined to keep his distance.

After a heartbreaking debacle, Thomas Sullivan decides to give up his roguish ways and become celibate. A test comes sooner than later upon meeting the lady of the house’s companion, Mary.

Mary Asher is not sure why the handsome new driver tries to avoid her at all costs, when he obviously finds her attractive. She decides to find creative ways to get time alone with him.

Chapter One

Berkhamsted, England 1818

The sound of her footsteps echoing as Mary Asher made her way down the corridor reminded her of the years she spent at a boarding school in London. Now as a companion for a lady, she lived in a gorgeous immense home in the country town of Berkhamsted, which was a full day’s ride from London.

Instead of taking tea, as was the custom for her and her mistress, Vivian Yarnsby. She went to the kitchen to have tea with the newly hired cook.

Vivian was recently married, and therefore needed the upmost privacy. It was only when she and her new husband, Alexander, emerged that Mary’s duties began.

Like the rest of the house, the kitchen was huge. Mary strolled in to find the cook, Moira and housemaid, Lottie, already sitting at a small table with bowls of porridge.

“I see you started without me,” Mary teased as she filled the kettle with water from a pitcher and placed it atop the stove. She then stirred the pot of porridge and filled a bowl for herself. “It is a most beautiful day is it not?”

Moira gave her a knowing look. “Did you spy a certain someone outside?”

Pretending not to hear, Mary continued. “I hope it will be warm enough to begin work in the flower garden.”

“I see you took special care with your hair today,” Lottie added. “The style suits you.”

Ever since she’d mentioned thinking the estate coachman, Thomas Sullivan, was handsome, the women had been relentless in teasing her about him.

And although she did wish to speak about the very attractive man, she kept any new thoughts to herself, for the time being.

It was rare that she had an opportunity to see or speak to Thomas as he only came to the house to eat. Other than a polite response to questions, while he ate, Thomas maintained a professional, and polite distance from everyone, except for Harold, Moira’s husband.

“I have not spoken or seen him since yesterday,” Mary said. “He is very quiet.”

Moira laughed. “I do enjoy hearing the both of you talk. Between your island accent and his Irish brogue, listening to the conversation is quite entertaining.”

When the door to outside opened, the three women went silent. Thomas entered and looked at each of them in turn, eyes narrowing. “Good morning ladies.”

With a rather dreadful snort, Lottie chuckled and looked down to her bowl and mumbled. “Morning, Thomas.”

Doing her best to avoid eye contact with Moira, Mary nodded at Thomas. “Good Morning Thomas. The porridge is very good today.”

“Sit,” Moira instructed and went to the stove. “Let’s get some food in you. Need to get full. I hear our employers plan to go into the village today. I assume you will be taking them.”

Thomas sat across from Mary, removed his hat, and placed his hat on an empty chair. “Yes, I will be going. If you require anything, I can fetch it for you. It will give me something to do while I wait for them.”

Moira slid a bowl in front of him and returned to pour tea into a cup. “As a matter of fact, I do have a list,” Moira exclaimed. “I haven’t asked Harold to take me to the village market since my hip is bothering me,” she said, referring to her husband, the estate groundskeeper.

When Lottie nudged Mary’s arm, her spoon fell onto the tabletop with a thump and porridge splattered, some landing on Thomas’ sleeve.

“I’m so sorry,” Mary sputtered. Grabbing her napkin, she wiped at his sleeve, which made the stain grow. She gave up and glared at Lottie.

“I didn’t mean to hit your arm so hard,” Lottie explained. “It’s just that I was going to point out that you are going into the village as well.”

Mary’s fingernails scraped the tabletop when she grabbed the spoon. She turned to Lottie. “Why would it require you to push my arm so hard?”