Which may have been why, when she opened her eyes and saw two strange people staring at her, she had such a fright that it took a full five minutes for her heart to stop racing.

“Who are you?” The words tumbled out of Sophie’s mouth before she realized exactly who they must be: Mr. and Mrs. Crabtree, the caretakers of My Cottage.

“Who are you?” the man demanded, not a little bit belligerently.

“Sophie Beckett,” she said with a gulp. “I...” She pointed desperately at Benedict. “He ...”

“Spit it out, girl!”

“Don’t torture her,” came a croak from the bed.

Three heads swiveled in Benedict’s direction. “You’re awake!” Sophie exclaimed.

“Wish to God I weren’t,” he muttered. “My throat feels like it’s on fire.”

“Would you like me to fetch you some more water?” Sophie asked solicitously.

He shook his head. “Tea. Please.”

She shot to her feet. “I’ll go get it.”

“I”ll get it,” Mrs. Crabtree said firmly.

“Would you like help?” Sophie asked timidly. Something about this pair made her feel like she were ten years old. They  were both short and squat, but they positively exuded authority.

Mrs. Crabtree shook her head. “A fine housekeeper I am if I can’t prepare a pot of tea.”

Sophie gulped. She couldn’t tell whether Mrs. Crabtree was miffed or joking. “I never meant to imply—”

Mrs. Crabtree waved off her apology. “Shall I bring you a cup?”

“You shouldn’t fetch anything for me,” Sophie said. “I’m a ser—”

“Bring her a cup,” Benedict ordered.

“But—”

He jabbed his finger at her, grunting, “Be quiet,” before turning to Mrs. Crabtree and bestowing upon her a smile that could have melted an ice cap. “Would you be so kind as to include a cup for Miss Beckett on the tray?”

“Of course, Mr. Bridgerton,” she replied, “but may I say—”

“You can say anything you please once you return with the tea,” he promised.

She gave him a stern look. “I have a lot to say.”

“Of that I have no doubt.”

Benedict, Sophie, and Mr. Crabtree waited in silence while Mrs. Crabtree left the room, and then, when she was safely  out of earshot, Mr. Crabtree positively chortled, and said, “You’re in for it now, Mr. Bridgerton!”

Benedict smiled weakly.

Mr. Crabtree turned to Sophie and explained, “When Mrs. Crabtree has a lot to say, she has a lot to say.”

“Oh,” Sophie replied. She would have liked to have said something slightly more articulate, but “oh” was truly the best she  could come up with on such short notice.

“And when she has a lot to say,” Mr. Crabtree continued, his smile growing wide and sly, “she likes to say it with great vigor.”

“Fortunately,” Benedict said in a dry voice, “we’ll have our tea to keep us occupied.”

Sophie’s stomach grumbled loudly.

“And,” Benedict continued, shooting her an amused glance, “a fair bit of breakfast, too, if I know Mrs. Crabtree.”

Mr. Crabtree nodded. “Already prepared, Mr. Bridgerton. We saw your horses in the stables when we returned from our daughter’s house this morning, and Mrs. Crabtree got to work on breakfast straightaway. She knows how you love your eggs.”

Benedict turned to Sophie and gave her a conspiratorial sort of smile. “I do love eggs.”

Her stomach grumbled again.

“We didn’t know there’d be two of you, though” Mr. Crabtree said.

Benedict chuckled, then winced at the pain. “I can’t imagine that Mrs. Crabtree didn’t make enough to feed a small army.”

“Well, she didn’t have time to prepare a proper breakfast with beef pie and fish,” Mr. Crabtree said, “but I believe she has bacon and ham and eggs and toast.”

Sophie’s stomach positively growled. She clapped a hand to her belly, just barely resisting the urge to hiss, “Be quiet!”

“You should have told us you were coming,” Mr. Crabtree added, shaking a finger at Benedict. “We never would have gone visiting if we’d known to expect you.”

“It was a spur-of-the-moment decision,” Benedict said, stretching his neck from side to side. “Went to a bad party and  decided to leave.”

Mr. Crabtree jerked his head toward Sophie. “Where’d she come from?”

“She was at the party.”

“I wasn’t at the party,” Sophie corrected. “I just happened to be there.”

Mr. Crabtree squinted at her suspiciously. “What’s the difference?”

“I wasn’t attending the party. I was a servant at the house.”

“You’re a servant?”

Sophie nodded. “That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you.”

“You don’t look like a servant.” Mr. Crabtree turned to Benedict. “Does she look like a servant to you?”

Benedict shrugged helplessly. “I don’t know what she looks like.”

Sophie scowled at him. It might not have been an insult, but it certainly wasn’t a compliment.

“If she’s somebody else’s servant,” Mr. Crabtree persisted, “then what’s she doing here?”

“May I save my explanations until Mrs. Crabtree returns?” Benedict asked. “Since I’m certain she’ll repeat all of your questions?”