“Of course others are here. Mrs. Smith—”
“Some food awaits in the kitchen, but she does not. I think she went home to her little cottage.”
She made no retort to that. So they were alone here, as he thought.
“You should be up in your chamber,” she said imperiously.
Perhaps so, if they were alone. “This suits me better.”
“It is not for you to say.”
“I swore my parole and will do so again if you want. If you insist I live all day in that attic, go get your pistol, because I will not return there until I retire otherwise.”
“If you give me cause, I will indeed get that pistol. Just so you know.”
“It was one kiss, Caroline. I am not going to assault you. However, since you mention it, I apologize for succumbing to the impulse, small though the transgression was.”
“Small? It was very, very wrong of you, and you know it.”
“I know it was wrong. Not very wrong, let alone very, very wrong.”
“I can’t believe you insist on that. Considering my sister—”
“Ah yes, your sister. What is her name again?”
She gasped. “You are a terrible, incorrigible, conceited man.” She gathered her composure. “I am having dinner at six o’clock. If you go down to the kitchen at seven o’clock, there will be a meal waiting for you. After you eat your meal, return to your chamber. You can carry your own water up. Since you have sworn your parole and have free movement, you don’t need us to serve you.”
Then she was gone in a flourish of plain blue wool and flaring brown eyes.
* * *
Caroline left the study at six o’clock and walked down to the kitchen. This was where the household had taken their meals ever since her father died. Carrying food up to the dining room seemed an unnecessary elaboration. It had been much easier to join the Hoovers below.
Redolent now with the smell of rabbit stew, the kitchen had been improved so Mrs. Hoover could cook for everyone at Crestview Park. The table had space for fifteen to sit and during the good times the servants from the stable and fields would come in, washed and tired, to take their meals there. Some remained long after they could be paid, mostly for the cooking. Eventually, however, financial realities had seen even those loyal retainers find other situations.
Only the Hoovers remained now.We know nothing else, Mr. Hoover had said.You can’t do it all yourself anyway.So it was that she found a new family in them and they all shared the same impoverishment.
At least Amelia had been spared the worst of the deprivations. Caroline always found a way to buy her new dresses and for six months kept a carriage just so Amelia could visit friends without arriving on the wagon. Their aunt and uncle had joined in the plan and invited Amelia to spend time with them in Carlisle while they doted on her and gave her something of the life she was supposed to have had.
Caroline peered into the cauldron that Mrs. Hoover had left simmering. She ladled out some stew, then carried her plate to the table. She found the bread baked in early morning and set it on a board near her plate. She drew some beer from the keg, then sat to eat.
She wondered if Mrs. Hoover had made any plans for their Christmas meals. Last Christmas had been barely celebrated, coming so close after her father’s passing. They should do more this time, lest they all lose the ability to experience the joy of the season. Of course, the amount of joy would depend on how things were settled with Lord Thornhill and Amelia. At the moment Caroline’s optimism on that had dimmed considerably.
No sooner than she had eaten two bites than she heard boot steps on the stairs. She swallowed a curse, gritting her teeth instead. She had clearly told him seven o’clock and it was only ten minutes past six.
Lord Thornhill strolled into the kitchen as if it were a drawing room, looking ravishingly handsome and ever so charming. If she were a man she would find a way to wipe that vague amusement off his beautiful face.
“I said seven o’clock.”
“I was hungry and the smell of that food permeates the house.” He went over and stuck his nose to it. “Rabbit?”
She sighed. “The plates are in the cupboard over there. You may serve yourself.”
She ignored him as best she could while plates clanked and the ladle dipped. He carried over his plate and placed it right next to hers. While he went looking for a fork, she shoved his plate across the table.
Boot steps behind her paused, then reoriented themselves around the table’s head. He settled down at his new place.
“Where did you get the ale?”
