“No,” she said around a mouthful of chocolate.
“I’ll spare you the whole story because it’s not worth the time to tell it. But suffice it to say, carrying a massive clock that may or may not contain the restless spirit of a stranger’s ancestor was one of my more bizarre jobs.”
She chuckled, the sensation so foreign her entire body trembled. He opened his mouth to speak, but the door cracked and Bea bustled in, pushing a rolling tray overladen with pastries she didn’t recognize.
“You should eat, milady. You’ve hardly taken any food today,” Bea cut in, then handed her a steaming cup. “He brought you willow bark tea. My mum made it for me during my courses, tastes like the devil but works like a miracle.” She looked at Archie with approval in her eyes. “I can’t believe you found it.”
Marigold held the cup between her hands, letting the warmth slide down her arms and ignoring the creeping guilt she felt at being the center of attention.
“Oh, the pastries! Cookies from the Italian market,” Archie said, eyes sparkling as he pointed to powdery discs on the top layer. “And these are shortbreads from my favorite spot.”
She lifted one buttery piece, noting the huge flakes of salt on the soft crust.
“Take a bite with a piece of caramel.” She raised a brow as he handed her the candy. He huffed and flattened his lips. “If you trust me on anything, trust me on this.”
“He’s right, milady, trust him.” Bea snagged a sliver of shortbread off the tray and popped it and a caramel in her mouth, then moaned, throwing her head back.
Marigold should get on with teaching this girl proper etiquette. Instead, she gave Bea a significant look. “Thank you, Mrs. Addington.”
“Mmmm, you’re welcome.” She licked the salt from her lip, then snagged a powdery cookie, sending sugar down the front of her serge dress. “The hot water bottles are below, with the extra blankets.”
She was out the door before Marigold could say another word, but Archie chuckled.
“I’m not an aristo, but even I know she’s unique.”
Marigold exhaled. “Archie, why are you d-d-doing this? I d-didn’t ask for it.”
“You don’t have to ask to get help.” He gathered a chocolate, caramel, and shortbread into a stack and handed it to her. “And I’ll tell you once you’ve eaten and had more tea.”
She should feel beyond awkward having a former lover and her housekeeper discussing her menses in her bedchamber, but having someone take care of her like this was… nice.
She’d best not get used to it. Once her divorce was finalized, she’d be starting over in a distant land, with Archie an ocean away.
“Are you going to eat that?” Archie asked. “Because if you don’t…” He reached out as though he’d snatch it from her, and she shoved the tower of food past her lips.
“Oh,” she hummed through her mouthful, “oh my lord.”
He grinned. “I told you! Now have more tea.”
She did and grimaced. “It’s d-dreadful.”
“I’ll give you more every time you take a sip.” He already had another stack of sweets prepared for her.
“You never answered my question why you’re d-doing this.” She sipped her tea, then gobbled the shortbread concoction with an inappropriate level of pleasure.
“First, I have six sisters and a mother. I never realized it was a social taboo for men to know about women’s courses until I was in university. I think that’s ridiculous.” He pointed to her cup. “More tea, milady?”
She sipped again, the bitterness far more tolerable with a sweet treat on the other side.
“And second, I could see you were hurting.” He paused, studied the tea tray for an inordinately long time. “And I haven’t seen you in some time.”
“In two weeks,” she blurted, then her cheeks heated. She shifted and pulled her bare feet more tightly under her robe. Ridiculous that she’d be concerned with propriety with a man who had been beneath her skirts, but the intimacy of the moment went far beyond her clothing and the proximity to her bed.
“I thought you wanted us to keep our distance.” Her words were hollow.
He scowled and returned to studying the tea tray. “I came to tell you we have a date for the trial.”
Her stomach turned to lead, the shortbread souring in her mouth. “We d-do?”
