She astonished me by pressing up onto her toes to drop a kiss to my forehead, quick and soft. It was breezy and unconcerned, the kind of thing a mother does for a daughter. At least, I thought it might be.
“Of course I can. Finish up with those onions and come see me by the fire. Mind your fingers.”
I brushed tears away with the back of my wrist, returning to the onions the way Kit taught me. Outside, he wrapped his sister into a familiar hug. It seemed this was an affectionate family.
Xander was a better brother than I deserved, but I couldn’t recall the last time we’d hugged. The thought was foreign and I could practically see him tucking his head behind his neck like a little turtle were I to try it. The mental picture had me chuckling to myself as I finished up.
In the corner of the living area, Rory and Alfie, now scrubbed clean, were playing jacks with the older children. Mr. Earnshaw was trying to encourage the littlest one to eat small pieces of cut vegetables between worried glances at the door.
At last, I finished the onions and carried the bowl over to Rose. A massive pot hung over the fire, the smell of roasting beef slowly overtaking the corner. “Start with the beef and onions. You want the meat trimmed and cubed. Do you know how to do that?”
When I shook my head, she launched into an explanation with none of the derision I had come to expect. She continued in that manner, answering all of my questions without judgment.
I sensed Kit’s return before I saw him, and I was able to school my reaction when his hand came to rest between my shoulder blades. “What are you two up to?”
“I’m learning to make your nan’s stew,” I explained, distractedly stirring the pot looking for the consistency his mother had described.
“You’re... Well, it smells incredible.”
“It was all Davina,” Rose said. “Don’t be modest,” she added when I protested.
“She’s a woman of many talents,” Kit replied.
“That she is,” Rose agreed. Something about the woman’s concurrence left a knot forming in my chest.
“Do I add the peas now?” I asked, desperate for a reprieve from sentiments I wasn’t fully comfortable with.
“Aye. You’ll need to set the table, Christopher,” she directed toward her son. “And get Sydney to help you pull up a couple end tables.”
I didn’t turn to see his response. But then I felt a quick press of lips against my crown. My heart gave a little jolt, but he was gone as quick as he’d arrived, murmuring to Mr. Earnshaw across the room.
When I glanced away from the stew to Rose, she was examining me, something unfamiliar in her expression, her lips pressed tightly together and her eyes bright.
I felt Mrs. Earnshaw’s gaze on my back, heavy and scrutinizing, and had to restrain my sigh. Surely I could not muck up the addition of peas under direct supervision.
A few moments later, she appeared with a stack of bowls.
“You go wash up, dear. We can serve it,” Rose said.
I did as she bade and found my way to Kit’s side just as he pulled over one last chair. He didn’t say anything, instead pressing another kiss to my temple. He was certainly more demonstrative of his false affection with his family than I would have expected. But it was quickly becoming apparent that this family was nothing like what I knew. Particularly when Mr. Earnshaw caught his wife’s arm, spinning her around to kiss her cheek, before spinning her back to return to the task of dishing up the stew.
I couldn’t once recall father doing something similar with mother. Cee and Gabriel, perhaps, but they were not long at home before they moved to Rycliffe Place.
“Are you all right?” Kit asked under his breath as he tugged me to sit down next to him. There was none of the pomp and ceremony I was accustomed to in this house.
“Yes,” I whispered back.
“Lizzie would like to speak with you after supper. Only if you’d like to.”
I would rather not. In fact, I could think of few tasks I would like to perform less. But as I had told him earlier, I would not be the one to give insult here.
Bowls of stew appeared before us as the children scrambled up into chairs, save the littlest one who was perched on Rose’s lap while she cooed endearments at him.
A spoonful confirmed that the stew was excellent and I felt a wave of pride wash over me. I may not have begun the day knowing how to cut an onion or brown meat, but I’d managed, with a bit of help, to do it justice.
Kit made an appreciative groan at my side. Across the table, Mrs. Earnshaw spoke up. “This is quite good,” she directed to me.
“Thank you. But it was all Rose, I merely followed instructions.”
