The duke considered her request for a moment. “Very well,” he finally agreed, “Now go,” he demanded, pointing a stern finger towards the door, and she had no choice but to leave.
“Breakfast,” he repeated to himself as she left. Surely, that was not too difficult a demand, especially if it meant that it would bring peace to his house.
He would concede to it.Notbecause he wanted to, of course.
At least that is what he told himself.
CHAPTER TEN
He had shown up.
Rachel had been very careful. She knew it would be unwise to get her hopes up beforehand.
In their conversation from earlier, he had not given her an absolute yes. And even if he had, who was to say that he would not change his mind later? She had prepared herself in advance for any disappointment that she had to experience.
But she had been pleasantly proven wrong when he had shown up at the breakfast table in the morning.
A man of his word,she thought to herself. That was an admirable quality to have, surely. She would allow him credit where it was due.
But Rachel had not fully thought this through. Now that he was here, she was not quite sure what to do with him. He was seatedat one end of the table as the footman served the food in front of them.
She was trying her best to conceal the surprise on her face. Why should she convey that she was surprised that her own husband had kept true to his words and shown up at the breakfast table?
No, she must not do that. But still, her curiosity towards him was growing by the second. What must be going through his mind right now?
Scrape. Scrape. Clink.
The sound of cutlery interacting with fine china was the only noise breaking the silence that had fallen between them. Simon had not uttered a single word to her, and she found herself observing every little mannerism that he had on display.
The way he reached for his fork and cut through his eggs. Or how he ate in methodical bites, chewing just long enough before setting his utensils down to prepare the next forkful. There was no savoring the flavour, no incessant lingering, no chatter. It was just as though he was eating only for nourishment.
Practical, one could say.
Even his breakfast spread was the furthest thing from indulgent. It was a modest serving of fruit, a buttered roll of bread, and a serving of two fried eggs.
“Is this your usual breakfast, Your Grace?” Rachel finally broke the silence. She had observed enough, and the silence was too much for her to take now.
Simon glanced up from his plate.
“I do not have a usual breakfast. I eat whatever is served,” he replied flatly.
It was a simple statement, but one that made her think. A man with his title should be accustomed to the most lavish of breakfast spreads. Not only accustomed. He should demand it. But he seemed content with whatever was on offer as though he neither missed nor wanted more.
Surely, it was not usual for a duke. At least, what she imagined a duke would be like.
She could not help but wonder and make connections in her mind. Was it a behavior rooted in the life he had lived before the title found him?
“Surely, you must have preferences,” she prodded gently. “It is only natural. And you have access to the best of ingredients and the best of staff. Your palate must be quite refined.”
His lips quirked upwards into a smirk at the suggestion. “Tell me, then. What do you suppose is arefinedpalette?”
His smirk threw her off guard. Rachel paused for a moment, gathering her thoughts. The last thing she had expected him to do was to turn her inquiry back towards her.
“I was just suggesting…”
“No,” he interrupted. “You used the words refined palette, and I would be interested to know what it is that you mean by it.”
He had doubled down on his question now, and Rachel knew that she would not be able to get herself out of this situation without answering it.
