"What do you do instead?"
"Read. Think. Review ledgers."
"That sounds thrilling."
"It's productive."
"But is it enjoyable?"
"I don't require enjoyment, merely occupation."
"That's the saddest thing you've said yet, and you've said some remarkably sad things."
She fetched the brandy and two glasses, settling into a chair by the fire she'd built up in the small fireplace. Alaric joined her, accepting the generous pour she offered.
"To blizzards," she said, raising her glass.
"To unexpected shelter."
They drank, and the brandy was indeed excellent—smooth and warm with just enough bite to remind you it was there.
"This has good bones," Alaric said without thinking, then caught himself. "I mean..."
"Good bones?" Marianne laughed. "It's brandy, not architecture."
"It's an expression. About the underlying quality."
"I know what it means. I'm just surprised you do. That's the kind of thing someone says when they know about wine and spirits. Really know, not just drink."
"I've had some education in wines." True enough—his wine cellar was worth more than most people's houses.
"At the great house where your father worked?"
"Yes."
"This house sounds more and more interesting. Noble, was it?"
"The owner was... elevated, yes."
"How elevated?"
"Does it matter?"
"I suppose not. I'm just curious about you, Mr. Fletcher. You're something of a puzzle."
"In what way?"
"You speak like a gentleman, move like someone trained to it from birth, have opinions about food pairings and brandy quality, yet you're working as a steward for an absent duke."
"Perhaps I'm a gentleman fallen on hard times."
"Are you?"
He took another sip of brandy to avoid answering directly. "We all fall in different ways."
"That's cryptic."
"That's all you're getting."
