“Mrs. Hemsley,” Georgina said, a slight lift in her voice, “we find ourselves in need of sustenance.”
“I anticipated as much, my lady,” the housekeeper replied with the ghost of a smile. “The table is already laid out in the morning room.”
“And perhaps some of your excellent pickled beets, if they are not too much trouble?”
“I shall see to it,” Mrs. Hemsley assured her, departing with the efficient grace of long practice.
Georgina led the way to the morning room, a familiar comfort in the house that had, until today, felt anything but. The table had been laid with cold meats, slices of fresh bread still warm at the center, and a small jar of Mrs. Hemsley’s prized gooseberry preserve. It was a modest meal, but honest and sufficient.
She untied her bonnet and set it aside, running her fingers over the brim before resting it on the sideboard. Weld, already out of his coat, glanced at the table and then at her, as if deciding between politeness and genuine hunger.
He helped her to her seat, waiting until she was settled before taking the chair opposite. Only two places had been set, a quiet acknowledgment that she had intended to share the table with no one else.
Mrs. Hemsley quietly placed a dish of pickled beets on the table and left.
“I confess,” he said, settling into the chair, “I didn’t expect to feel this famished after the morning’s work.”
“You expected the mine to take your appetite as well as your caution?” Georgina countered lightly as she unfolded her napkin.
His mouth curved, a subtle echo of amusement. “Something like that.”
She reached for the bread, tearing a piece free with practiced ease. “Then it’s a good thing Mrs. Hemsley had the foresight to keep us from fainting dead away.”
“I owe her my thanks,” Weld replied, helping himself to the cold meat, his movements unhurried but certain.
They ate for a moment in companionable quiet, the soft clink of cutlery filling the room. Through the window, sunlight warmed the pale drapery, and a small breeze stirred the lace at the edges.
As Georgina tore a piece of bread, she caught the easy rhythm of their meal, the absence of guarded formality. Once, this comfort between them had come without thought. Years had stretched the distance, yet here it was again, unexpected but not unwelcome. Perhaps they could find their way back to that ease, not as it was in youth, but as something steadier. Something earned.
“I would not have thought,” Georgina said after a moment, “that such a dark, enclosed place could leave a person feeling more awake, not less.”
He glanced up at her, something thoughtful flickering behind his gaze. “It sharpens the senses. Danger does that. You learn to notice every detail, every sound. The shift of a timber. The breath of air where there should be none.”
Her expression softened, curiosity overtaking caution. “You notice everything, then?”
“I try,” he said simply, meeting her eyes across the table. “Especially when the stakes are high.”
Their gazes held for a heartbeat longer than polite conversation required, a subtle thread of understanding weaving between them.
Georgina was the first to look away, though a slight smile lingered at the corner of her mouth. She busied herself with pouring the tea. “Then I suspect you’ve noticed my determination as well.”
“I have,” Weld replied, his voice low, edged with quiet respect. “And I expect it will serve you better than most weapons in this fight.”
“I do not care to be at war with my own holdings,” she said, passing him a cup, “but I will not give them up easily.”
He accepted the tea, cradling the warmth of it between his palms. “No,” he said, with quiet certainty. “You will not.”
They ate a little longer, a few easy comments slipping between them like old habits rediscovered. It wasn’t laughter, not yet, but it was something close. A softening. A thaw.
“You will need stout boots, next time,” he observed, nodding to her sensible but mud-spattered pair beneath the table.
She followed his glance and gave a wry twist of her lips. “So, it is to be next time already?”
His mouth quirked. “Unless today has deterred you entirely.”
“Hardly.” She tipped her head, the spark of challenge alight in her eyes. “Though I would appreciate fair warning if I’m to crawl through shafts like a coal rat.”
“I’ll see that you are forewarned,” he promised. “Though I suspect you’d manage well enough, coal rat or not.”
