“And what kind of flowers will you plant,Princesse?”
Aubrey pursed her lips. “My first task will be to get some perennials into the ground, and some bulbs, so that they can establish themselves. Then I shall enhance my garden with all kinds of annuals. Perhaps in the future, I will even have a hot house built and try my hand at something more exotic.”
The maid chose that moment to return carrying a tray laden with heaping dishes that she set in front of Mr. Bateman, seemingly completely unaware of Aubrey’s existence.
Mr. Bateman grinned as the woman displayed more cleavage than was proper for any reputable establishment, as though he rather enjoyed the attention.
“And my toast?” Aubrey asked when the woman had assured that Mister Bateman had all of the utensils and condiments and sauces he could possibly need.
“Right here.” She dropped a small plate in front of Aubrey before reluctantly dragging herself away from Mr. Bateman’s side.
“Might I have some honey—“ But the door had already closed behind the woman. “This is notamoosing…” She imitated his accent, knowing he would be unable to ignore the fact that her toast was burned.
He lifted a full fork from his own plate and held it across the table. When Aubrey didn’t immediately open her mouth, he touched it to her lips.
Buttery, savory, rich flavor exploded in her mouth. She couldn’t help but close her eyes as she chewed the large bite.
Shehadbeen hungry, more hungry than she’d imagined. After she’d chewed and swallowed the entire mouthful, she opened her eyes and caught him watching her.
“Mon dieu, you make it difficult for a man to keep his promises…” He spoke softly.
“Promises?” She asked before she realized his gaze was focused upon her lips. “It is delicious.” She conceded, flustered at the intensity in his eyes.
“I suppose that along with never having been properly kissed, you’ve never eaten a proper English breakfast before either. Did your husband keep you in a tower?”
She’d ignore such nonsense. “I’ve never had this. What is it?”
He held his fork out to her so that she could take another bite.
“Kidneys on fried toast. My grandmother on my mother’s side introduced me. Thought I’d died and gone to heaven the first time it was served. And we didn’t just eat it at breakfast time. Grandmother had Cook serve it for the evening meal, along with sausages, pork, a handful of vegetables, but always fried bread, and always eggs and kidneys.”
It ought to be disgusting, really, and yet it tasted so decadent and buttery…
He scooped a mouthful for himself, eating off the same utensil he’d fed her with. Eating from the same utensil as this handsome stranger struck Aubrey, once again, as unimaginably intimate.
Without thinking, she pushed her toast aside and stabbed her fork into a piece of kidney and egg from Mr. Bateman’s plate. She expected some sort of mocking comment but he apparently was exercising self-restraint this morning.
Even if she was not.
“Out with it.” She demanded.
“Out with what?”
“I know you want to say something how you told me so… Just go ahead. I know you want to. You enjoy laughing at me enough. Likely, you’re regretting traveling with such an uptight widow as myself. You mustn’t pretend to like me, you know.” Perhaps it was the food, or perhaps it was knowing he was watching her, or perhaps it had been that he’d rather seemed to be enjoying the maid’s flirtatious overtures… But she was feeling contrary this morning.
“I enjoy you. You make me laugh.” He stared at her curiously.
“Ha!” Aubrey stabbed another hearty sized piece of egg and sausage.
“Ah, Mrs. Bloomington,” he demanded her attention by speaking softly. “Trust me when I say that although I would rather not have lost Guinevere, I’m rather pleased at the turn of events that’s allowed me to make your acquaintance. Not only are you beautiful, but you’re sweet and you’re innocent, and you’re filled with an unusual combination of optimism for having been married to a man such as Old Harry.”
“God rest his soul.” Aubrey murmured out of habit.
“God rest his soul.” He repeated after her, albeit with more than a little amusement in his voice. “I rather like you, Mrs. Bloomington.”
Aubrey placed her fork on the table, feeling rather foolish but also… something else.
“You like me?”
