It was proof that the grim-faced, silent man had feelings after all.
A soft pressure on her calves made her look down, to find Felicity winding about her legs, her black tail waving in the air.
“Are you hungry?” Esme inquired.
The little cat butted its head against her skirts until Esme bent down and scooped her up.
“Let’s go and find you something to eat.”
She walked carefully down the stairs, pleased that Felicity was content to lay without protest in her arms. Esme had never before had soul responsibility for a living creature, but so far, the role was oddly satisfying.
Mayhap, one day she would make a good mother?
Esme shook the thought from her mind. Her only chance for marriage and a family lay with Crispin.
Crispin, who was noticeably absent.
Crispin, whose long-admired boyish good looks were already beginning to lose their charm in her mind’s eye.
She had brought the straw ring he’d hastily made for her all the way here, to Ember Hall, secreting it in a small drawer of her dresser. But yesterday, when she fetched it out, she’d seen clearly that it was not a ring at all. ’Twas only a long strand of straw, grown limp over time.
In a sudden rush of temper, she had thrown it away, and in the hours since she had refused to allow herself to feel ill at ease over this.
But if Esme allowed it, she could grow rather ill at ease about the way Crispin had treated her.
How dare he do…that? And then ride away? And then leave her here, waiting endlessly, without so much as a word?
Felicity squirmed and Esme realized she had been squeezing the little cat too tightly.
“I’m sorry,” she apologized, rounding the corner into the kitchen.
Agnes, the cook, was wiping down the vast oak table, her long grey plait swinging over one shoulder. She glanced up at Esme and muttered a greeting.
Esme was more accustomed to servants who bowed and curtsied in her presence, but she knew that Frida ran her household along different lines to Wolvesley Castle.
“May I have something for the cat to eat?” she asked, shifting Felicity in her arms.
Agnes smiled slightly. “That was Miss Flora’s usual refrain. I understand the creature is fond of cold meats and fish. You can take your pick from the cold store.”
Esme looked about her blankly until Agnes pointed her in the right direction. She was slightly put out that the cook had not gone and rustled up something herself. But equally, was pleased to be occupied with a task. She shivered in the chill air as she walked past the dairy and into the stone-flagged cold store, where her first instinct was to squeal in protest at the sight of so much death.
“’Tis only meat, milady.” Agnes had come up behind her and was gently nudging her to one side.
“Not in a form I am used to seeing.” Esme put a hand to her mouth and nose, fearing she might gag at the smell. Felicity took this opportunity to jump from her arms.
“Mayhap you’ll get along better with fish. This one’s already skinned and gutted for you?” Agnes gestured toward a platter of pale fleshy meat.
“Whatever you think.” Esme moved toward the platter, but Agnes got there before her.
“Do not fret, milady. I shall fetch it for you.”
Feeling mildly chastised, Esme followed the cook back into the warmth of the main kitchen. “You are thinking that little Flora has a stronger stomach than I do,” she stated.
“I said naught of the like.” Agnes divided up the fish and put some down in the corner for Felicity to inspect.
“You would be right.” Esme pushed back her hair and attempted a smile.
Agnes smiled back. “’Tis all a matter of upbringing, milady. And you were raised the daughter of an earl.”
