“Mr. Cuthbert, sir,” she exclaimed upon opening the door. She pulled her shawl closer about her, blushing that he should see her in her nightdress, hair unbound.
The man turned a shade red himself. “Ma’am, er, miss.” He held out a basket while staring at his feet.
“We did not . . .” she stammered. “We did not expect you so early I’m afraid.” Her blush deepened. “But come in for a bite, sir. Have you broken fast yet this morning?”
Mr. Cuthbert merely stared at her, which she took to mean yes, and shooting him a little smile, she bid him enter, which he finally did.
She sat him across from Papa, who looked up from his eggs and began to speak to the man as if the fellow werehissteward rather than Lord Wellesley’s.
Eleanor was mortified.
She quickly placed a hand on her father’s shoulder. “Papa,” she chided, “you mustn’t order our visitor about when he is our guest. Eat your eggs and give the man some peace.” She smiled warmly at Mr. Cuthbert, doing her best to smooth any slight made by Papa.
***
John felt his insides melt.
“It is very kind of you to bring us more provisions again so soon, sir. We are overcome by his lordship’s generosity, truly.”
She placed two eggs and a hunk of bread with butter before him, then proceeded to pour him tea.Butter! John thought.How’d that bloody get in the basket?
“Yet I must ask you, sir, have you news of my sister? Is she well?” Her face registered concern. “It is unlike Charles not to send word.”
He rummaged in his pocket and brought out a letter, which she eagerly unfolded, her relief upon reading it palpable.
“Oh thank goodness!” she exclaimed. “Housekeeper is indeed an excellent position, one she will no doubt . . .” She broke off, skimming the letter. “Yet my sister writes she may not visit for some time. Why?” Her bold, brown eyes met Cuthbert’s with nothing short of dismay. “How is she not allowed time off, sir? I do not understand. Surely one day a fortnight, even a month, household staff is allowed a day’s rest?”
John cleared his throat. “There were the matter o’ the chickens, miss,” he mumbled into his plate to spare the young lady more humiliation.
“I see.” She looked away. “Well, we shall make do then, and I will write her back, of course.”
“Happy t’ deliver yer correspondence, miss,” he told her.
“Would you?” She beamed at him. “Thank you, sir. I should be most grateful, only . . .” Her face promptly fell.
“Is aught the matter, miss?”
She continued looking down. “It is only . . . I wonder, sir, if when you come next you might spare paper and ink for me?”
He immediately relaxed. “O’ course, miss.”
She visibly brightened. “I am much obliged, sir. More tea?”
He merely nodded, feeling tongue-tied before this lovely lady, especially as she was in her night-rail yet, and with her dark hair cascading down her back he wanted nothing more than to bury his face into those rich brown waves and inhale her.
She poured him another cup and, noting his plate already empty, delivered him another slice of bread, but not before she’d heaped butter on it again. Their eyes met over the table and she smiled, making John look away a little fast, his cheeks blazing as she chatted on.
“Does his lordship plan to stay long at Almsdale, sir? Does he wish to make a home here for himself? The village must be aflutter with the news, I imagine. And is Lord Wellesley a good man, sir? Is he . . .” She hesitated. “Is he a fair master, now that my sister is employed at the Abbey? She is outspoken, you see, and I should hope he does not count the matter of her”—she struggled—“indiscretionall too much against her, Mr. Cuthbert. Charles has not a bad bone in her body, truly. She acts only out of?—”
“She’s his housekeeper now, miss.” He gruffly cut her off. “And he’s a good and fair master, one I’d give me life for. She could do worse’n work for Lord Wells.”
“I see. Thank you, Mr. Cuthbert. You have eased my conscience much.”
“Yerconscience?”
“Yes.” Her face turned grave. “Charles does everything to ensure our wellbeing, you see, so I feel responsible for her behavior as she acts solely out of concern for us.” She made for the stove, clearly trying to hide tears.
John fell a pang of guilt towards Wellesley’s new mistress, then pushed aside the thought, ornery woman that she was. He watched Charles’s sister, all sweetness and grace, hastily wipe her eyes and fry him another egg. He thought again how different the two were.
