Smiling, Mary dipped the brush in a bit of brown paint. She'd think of her conversation with Emily and Cassandra later. Right now, all she wanted was a distraction from her ongoing contemplations about Mr. Crawford and the undeniable effect he had on her.
Clouds were gatheringby the time Caleb finished attaching the final slate tile to the part of the roof he'd worked on for the last couple of days. The women and the children had retreated inside a while ago, but only after the girls had completed their paintings. He'd paused his work when he'd seen Miss Clemens get up to help Daphne and had felt his heart squeeze in response to the nurturing image she presented. She was good with children and would make an excellent mother one day, if given the chance.
By the time he'd gathered his tools and descended the ladder, rain had started to fall. Looking up at the darkening sky, Caleb could only hope the repairs he'd made so far would hold and that no additional damage would be done to the house during the night.
The fragrant smell of meat roasting in the oven filled his nostrils when he entered the kitchen. His stomach growled in response, his body warming to the sight of Miss Clemens peeling potatoes while Miss Howard chopped vegetables and Lady Cassandra prepared some gravy. The atmosphere was cozy in its inclusiveness. It agreed with him more than sitting at the head of a long empty table while waiting for his meal to be served.
But this was temporary. Eventually he would have to return to Camberly House and resume his duties.
Banishing that unpleasant thought, he removed his damp jacket and hung it on a peg near the door. “Anything I can help with?” he asked.
“You're welcome to set the table,” Mary said with a brief glance in his direction.
Caleb nodded and went to wash his hands before going in search of the plates. Stacking them in his arms, he carried them into the dining room. A wry smile tugged at his lips at the thought of a duke performing such an ordinary task. His mother would probably be horrified. He laughed and shook his head. When he'd told her he needed to get away for a while, he'd failed to mention what he would be doing or how he'd be living.
The door opened and Miss Clemens stepped in. “How are you doing?”
“Have a look,” he suggested as he placed the last fork in its allotted spot.
She surveyed the table, then looked at him with enough curiosity to make Caleb's stomach tighten. Her gaze grew assessing. “Why are you so good at everything you do?”
He grinned while shrugging one shoulder and locked her compliment away behind his heart. “Experience and self-reliance, I suppose. I've never been opposed to trying new things, and since leaving home ten years ago, I have had to figure a lot of things out on my own. Setting a table properly, however, just requires a bit of attention to detail. Most people can do it if they try.”
“I know. But most people might not know to align the edge of the plate with the edge of the table or to place the silverware as precisely as you have done.” She tilted her head. “It simply makes me wonder, that is all.”
Caleb drew a deep breath. She was right to do so, of course. After all, how many laborers would think to fold the napkins to imitate fans? The foolish effort would likely give him away.
But she chose to abandon the topic in favor of another. Moving toward him while her fingers trailed over the back of each chair, she quietly asked, “Is there a Mrs. Crawford I ought to know about?”
Caught off guard, Caleb blinked a few times before he could answer. He decided to pose a question of his own. “Do you honestly think I would have said the things I said to you earlier if there were?”
A flush filled her cheeks, but she kept her assessing gaze on him. “That is what I am trying to determine.” When he didn't respond, she pressed her lips together in a pensive way before saying, “I have misjudged people before.”
“Is that why you left London and came to live here?” He had to ask even if she refused to answer.
She dropped her gaze, and Caleb held his breath in anticipation of either enlightenment or disappointment. The only sound filling the room was the rain tapping hard against the windows.
Miss Clemens shifted. Another second passed. And then, “Yes.” Hesitantly, she raised her gaze to his and showed him her mortification. “I kissed a man I should not have kissed and believed him when he said that we would eventually marry.”
Everything inside Caleb revolted in response to those words, and yet he forced himself to ask, “What happened?”
“I stupidly assumed our courtship was real, but as it turned out, I was not good enough for the gentleman in question. Or at least that is what his father said when he told me to stay away from his son.”
Moving closer to her, Caleb stared down into her upturned face. “I am sorry you were hurt.”
She smiled a smile that didn't quite reach her eyes. “It is in the past, but the impact it had on my life...” She shook her head. “I was young and naive and convinced I was madly in love. But even if I'd wanted to consider another gentleman's attentions, none were forthcoming after I became known as a woman who sought to trap unsuspecting gentlemen into marriage.”
Confounded by the cruelty she'd been subjected to, he could not think of what to say except, “Who started that rumor? Do you know?”
“The father of the kissee.”
Caleb's lips twitched a little. “The kissee?”
“As in the victim of my unrestrained passion.” She rolled her eyes and blew out a breath. “Never mind the fact that he kissed me first and not the other way around.”
The unfairness tore at Caleb's heart. “I don't suppose you'll tell me the scoundrel's name so I can give him a sound thrashing?”
She smiled just enough to lift his spirits. “It is in the past, Mr. Crawford. Best not dwell on it.”
