“She’s asking for you,” Phoebe announced as she entered the servants’ dining room.
Adrian glanced up from polishing a silver teapot. “I must finish this first,” he replied quietly. He didn’t want to go up there and see her being courted by that gentleman. Nor did he want to see the flowers he’d spent so long picking and then foolishly abandoned on the floor like a sulking child. His actions made him feel like a coward, but he couldn’t go back up there and see her beaming from another man’s attentions, not when he’d held such a foolish hope that she might . . . Adrian banished the thought.
Phoebe stood in front of him, her stern expression softening. “She prefers yours.”
“Pardon?” Adrian focused back on the teapot, rubbing over-vigorously on a stubborn spot of tarnish.
“Your flowers. Th
