Neither of them moved. The air between them crackled with something that definitely wasn't employer-employee appropriate. Clara could feel his heartbeat under her palms, quick and not entirely steady. His hands on her waist tightenedfractionally, and she had the absurd thought that he was about to pull her closer when…
"Am I interrupting something?"
They sprang apart like guilty teenagers, Clara scrambling to her feet while Gabriel remained on the floor, glaring at the doorway where Edmund stood with barely concealed glee.
Edmund Hartley was everything Gabriel wasn't, fair where Gabriel was dark, cheerful where Gabriel was brooding, unscarred where Gabriel was... He was also holding a basket that smelled like heaven and looking at them with the expression of someone who'd just won a particularly satisfying bet with himself.
"Edmund," Gabriel said from the floor, with great dignity considering his position. “Pray tell, do you not deem it fit to knock?”
"I do indeed, and I did. Three times to be exact. Three times. You were apparently too busy catching falling women to notice."
"The ladder broke," Clara said quickly.
"Of course it did." Edmund's grin widened. "Ladders are notorious for flinging women into convenient arms. Happens all the time. There ought to be an advertisement placed in the papers to alert the public.”
Gabriel finally got to his feet, brushing dust from his clothes with movements that suggested he'd like to be brushing Edmund from existence. “What is the purpose of your visit?”
"I brought food from Margaret. She's concerned that Miss Whitfield is surviving on whatever gruel you're providing."
"I don't make gruel," Gabriel said, offended.
"You don't make anything. I've seen your kitchen. There's a family of mice that have given up and moved somewhere with better prospects."
"They were rats, actually. And they were ungrateful. I offered them perfectly good cheese."
"When?"
"1812."
Clara couldn't help it, but at that point, she burst out laughing. Both men turned to look at her, Edmund with delight and Gabriel with something more complicated.
"She laughs!" Edmund exclaimed. "Gabriel, you've found the one woman in England who finds you amusing rather than terrifying."
"I'm paying her to find me amusing."
"No," Clara corrected, taking the basket from Edmund with a grateful smile. "You're paying me to clean. Finding you amusing is an unfortunate side effect of proximity."
Edmund clutched his chest dramatically. "She has wit! Gabriel, where did you find her?"
"Dying on my doorstep."
"How romantic."
"It wasn't…" Clara began.
"It was Tuesday," Gabriel interrupted. "Nothing romantic about Tuesdays."
"Everything's romantic about Tuesdays if you're doing them right," Edmund countered. "Margaret and I…"
“We do not need to be informed about yourself and your wife.” Gabriel said flatly.
"Miss Whitfield might care. She seems to be someone who appreciates a good romance."
"Miss Whitfield seems to be someone who appreciates food more than your agreeable union. Now please allow her to eat."
Clara was already unpacking the basket, which consisted of fresh bread, cheese, cold chicken, apple tart. Her stomach, which had been slowly remembering how to process food after days of starvation, growled audibly.
“When was your last sustenance?” Edmund asked, his joviality fading into concern.
