“You run this manor all by yourself?” He lifted his brows.
“We all do what we have to do.”
“But why? Why stay here if they treat you so badly?”
“This is my home,” I said. “I was born here. I know every corner of this place.”
“You were born here?” He frowned. “Then where are your parents? Did they work here as servants too?”
“You ask a lot of questions,” I said as I gathered some plates and mugs for us.
I took a seat at the table, pulled the satchel to me, and started emptying it. There was a nice loaf of bread, a wedge of cheese, a whole chicken wrapped in muslin, fruit, and wine. My stomach rumbled.
“I can't help it,” Ashton said as he sat across from me. “You interest me.”
“I'm not all that unusual.” I cut the bread and laid a slice on the plate before him.
“Yes, you are,” he insisted as he poured our wine. “You're extremely well-spoken, with a direct manner and an honesty that you don't find in servants. If I didn't know better, I'd say you were a lady.”
“I'm no lady,” I whispered.
“Tell me more about yourself,” he urged.
“No, it's not a happy story; not good dining talk at all,” I said crisply. “Tell me about you instead. What was it like growing up as a prince?”
“What was it like?” He looked confused at first, then a little sad. “No one has ever asked me that.”
“I wouldn't have thought it would be a bad question,” I noted his expression. “Or that it would be difficult to answer.”
“It's not”–he swallowed roughly–“but it's also not the happiest of stories.”
“Being a prince isn't fun?” I teased him. “It seems a far cry better than my life.”
“It is a good life,” he admitted. “I'm not trying to complain, especially not to a servant. How horrid would that be?”
“Pretty horrid.” I smirked as I doled out chicken, then cheese.
“I was the first born,” he said. “I was coddled and spoiled, but I was also smothered. My parents didn't know if they'd have more children, much less sons, so I was treasured like an expensive pet. I spent all of my early years indoors.”
“Really?” I blinked in surprise.
“They couldn't risk me getting injured.” He nodded. “I wasn't allowed to play with anything that might hurt me either, not even allowed to sit on a rocking horse.”
“Ridiculous,” I huffed.
“Yes, just so,” he agreed. “It wasn't until Weston was born that I had any freedom. Even then, it came slowly. By the time Braxton came along, things were much better, but it's hard to get over the feeling of being imprisoned in your own home.”
“Now that, I can understand,” I whispered as I looked around the kitchen. “As much as I want to leave this life, it will be hard to leave this house.”
“So, you are going to leave?”
“Soon, I think.” I set my stare on him firmly. “One way or another.”
“Good for you,” he smiled, but it wasn't frivolous. Ashton smiled at me like I was a kindred spirit, one he was rooting for. “I will have a heavy heart when I leave tonight, knowing that you're sleeping on that stone hearth, but the thought that you shan't be there for long will help ease my mind.”
I stared at him, an awful feeling filling my stomach. A feeling that told me in no uncertain terms that I had been wrong about the brothers... in so many ways.
Chapter Eleven
