"Yes."
She stared at him. "I see."
She wrapped her arms around her knees. She was still shivering.
He reached out to touch her face, but she pulled away. He froze, then dropped his hand.
He got up, stoked the fire in the stove, and eventually the heat penetrated, the chattering stopped, and some coherent thoughts began to form in her mind.
"All the time. You were here."
She glanced around, taking in the earthen floor, the forge, the anvil, the tub of water next to it, and the various tools lying about. "This is your forge?"
"Yes."
"Does he pay you well? The marquess, I mean."
His head snapped up.
"Of course he does, what a silly thing to say. He must pay very well," she said tonelessly. "The cottage attached here must be yours, too."
"Yes." It came out as a whisper.
"It's a very nice cottage, and big. Much bigger and better than what could ever be had in F-Fowey."
"Mira—"
I will build you a little cottage with my own hands...
She blindly picked up the mug from the floor, wiped it on her skirt and placed it on a small wooden table. "So you left to get yourself a better position as a blacksmith in this grand place. You are a master now."
At first it seemed he would not answer. His face was turned away.
How strange that she felt nothing at all. Only numbness and tiredness seeping into every inch of her body.
"I'm staying at the manor," she told him. "As Miss Cullpepper's companion. She has been invited to his Lordship's party. I am forced to spend more time with the nobles than I care for, but it pays well. They are very snobbish and very strange. The duke is awful, the Austrian count is a terrible flirt, and I haven't even met the marquess yet. I am supposed to behave like a lady, which I often forget. Sometimes I catch myself in the nick of time, just as I’m about to clear the table or dust the chest of drawers. It's a hard habit to break."
She babbled.
He nodded woodenly. "Are they treating you well?"
"Well enough."
She got up, untangled herself from the blanket, and dropped it to the floor. She pressed the back of her hand to her forehead and closed her eyes.
When she opened them again, her eyes took some time to focus on him.
"Why?" she whispered.
He tensed immediately.
"Why, Kit?Why?"
She stepped up to him and pushed against his chest, causing him to drop the hammer and stumble backward against the anvil. His arms hung at his sides, and he did not defend himself. Nor did he answer.
She hammered at him. "Why. Why. Why?" It came out as a scream.
"I—oh God, Mira, what can I even say?" he whispered brokenly.
