Mrs Chambers re-entered the room with a large skillet filled with fried eggs and a loaf of fresh bread. As though this was a well-established routine, Peter took the bread from her and began cutting generous slices.
“Here,” Mrs Chambers said, placing the thickest slice on Oliver’s plate. “You’ll need feeding up after that accident, love. And you too, Mrs Beaumont.” She deposited another thick slice on Emily’s plate.
“Emily, please,” Emily said weakly.
“Then you can call me Susan.” The front door crashed, and there was the sound of boots cracking against the stone. Mrs Chambers lifted her head. “That’ll be your father,” she said to her children, and they all settled neatly in front of their plates.
Mr Chambers entered the dingy dining room and paused by the fire to toss another log into the greedy flames. The walls weresinged with soot, telling Oliver the smoke puffing into the room at regular intervals was not a rare occurrence.
“Everywhere’s frozen up,” the lean man said as he took his seat at the head of the table, rubbing his hands.
“What about the animals?” Mrs Chambers asked, coming to brush her hand across her husband’s shoulder.
“All fine. They’ll be glad to get back out into the pastures, but they’ll do for now.” Mr Chambers looked across at Oliver. “Your horses are recovering well, too. I’ve put a poultice on the sprained hock, but the blacksmith won’t be able to get here any time soon for the shoe, I reckon.”
Mrs Chambers leant over the table and began spooning portions of food onto each of their plates, beginning with Oliver and Emily. Along with their bread, they got three rashers of bacon and three eggs, and Mrs Chambers set some tea to steep.
The children immediately began to dig in, all talking over each other. Beside him, Emily ate quietly. As Mrs Chambers supervised little John, and Mr Chambers fielded Peter’s questions about working in the fields, Oliver leant in closer.
“How early did you rise to help with breakfast?”
“As early as I would usually rise,” she said in a prim voice.
“Is that designed to make me chagrined?”
“Are you capable of chagrin?”
“Only on special occasions,” he said, and dipped his bread into the runny egg yolk. “You should have woken me.”
“For what purpose? Can you so much as boil a kettle?”
The obvious answer was no—he had never boiled anything in his life—but he disliked the thought of being deemed incapable yet again. “I imagine I could have done with instruction.”
She winced as though something pained her. “I would rather not have to endure instructing you.”
“That was rude.” He took some jam, placed a dollop on his bread, and offered some to her. “You know, we really ought to be nicer to one another.”
She flushed, practically snatching the jam from his hands. “I am perfectly nice to you.”
“Mm, I suppose youdidsit by my bed last night,” he mused, lowering his voice and watching the blush spread across her face. There was something deliciously appealing about the sight. “Smile, darling. Mrs Chambers is watching.” Then, just because he could, and because he wanted to, he took Emily’s hand and brought it to his mouth. Emily’s fingers flexed against his, and her cheeks burned.
Mrs Chambers chuckled. “You must be proud of your wife, Mr Beaumont. She knows her way around a kitchen, that’s for certain. She will keep you an excellent house.”
Emily retrieved her hand, tucking it on her lap, and Oliver grinned. “I couldn’t agree more,” he said. “I am extremely fortunate in my choice of bride.”
Chapter Ten
Afterbreakfast,Emilyfledback to their bedroom, and Oliver followed her upstairs, shutting the door behind them. Food seemed to have done him good; although he still held his arm stiffly, he seemed rather more robust than he had been.
She could not say the same for herself.
“Are you all right?” he asked.
“I’m fine.”
“So you keep saying.” He reached for her, and she flinched back, but he only caught her chin. A frown darkened his face as he examined her temple. “I wish I could have prevented this,” he murmured. His thumb brushed her jaw, a gentle touch he appeared to have done entirely unconsciously, and Emily held still. Warmth bloomed where his skin touched hers, and she wanted to find an excuse for this sudden awareness. Perhaps it was that she was afraid of him. Or merely that someone had not touched her in this way—tenderly, as though she might break underneath him if he was not careful—in such a long time that she had forgotten how it felt.
Oliver didn’t seem to notice, his gaze still fixed on her temple. He was not very much taller than her; a few inches at most. With the way he leant in, breath dancing across her face, he was almost close enough that she could kiss him.
