"Pain doesn't excuse negligence," Mrs. Morrison said, though her tone softened slightly. "We all have pain, Mr. Fletcher. The difference is what we do with it."
Before the conversation could become even more uncomfortable, the door burst open, bringing a swirl of snow and a thoroughly disheveled Marianne.
"Sorry, sorry!" she called, shaking snow from her coat. "The dough was being difficult."
Chapter 4
"Dough can be difficult?" Alaric asked as she took the seat beside him.
"Oh yes. Today's batch had opinions about proper development."
"And you disagreed?"
"Vehemently. We had words. Well, I had words. The dough maintained a sullen silence."
"Who won?"
"Ask me tomorrow when you see the bread. If it's edible, I won. If it's suitable for building material, the dough won."
Mrs. Morrison immediately began fussing over Marianne, insisting she eat something "substantial" and pushing various dishes toward her with determination.
"I'm fine, Mrs. Morrison."
"You're too thin."
"I'm exactly the right amount of thin."
"Men like women with some meat on them."
"Then it's fortunate I'm not trying to attract men."
"Of course not, dear," Mrs. Morrison said, while in an unsubtle manner gesturing toward Alaric.
Marianne caught the gesture and rolled her eyes. "Subtle as always, Mrs. Morrison."
"I don't know what you mean."
"You're literally pointing at Mr. Fletcher."
"I'm reaching for the salt."
"The salt is on the other side of the table."
"The other salt."
"There is no other salt."
"Then I'm gesturing expansively."
"At Mr. Fletcher's face?"
"It's a verygesturableface."
Alaric nearly choked on his wine. "I'm not sure that's a word."
"It is now," Mrs. Morrison said firmly. "I just made it up."
"You can't just make up words," the land steward protested.
