“How does an omelet sound?” Mr. Talbot asked after greetings had been exchanged.
“I’ve never tried one before.” Cassandra gave Devlin an uncertain look. “Is it good?”
“One of Talbot’s many specialties.”
“Ah,” Cassandra smiled. “Well, then, I suppose I must try it.”
Mr. Talbot beamed. “You won’t be sorry.” He began gathering eggs, an onion, and a tomato, as well as a small bunch of chives. “Will you be eating as well, Captain?”
“It would be rude of me to let a lady eat alone,” Devlin said as he studied Mr. Talbot’s ingredients with wolfish anticipation.“So I won’t say no to a small portion.”
“This is delicious,” Cassandra told Devlin a short while later. She stuck another piece of omelet in her mouth and savored the flavor. “I don’t suppose he could teach me how to make it?”
“You like to cook?” The question came with a hint of surprise.
Cassandra shrugged one shoulder and ate two more bites. “It gives me satisfaction.Not that I’m especially good at it, mind you. Emily’s the one with the culinary talent, but I’d still like to keep at it. Especially if I’m able to improve my skills.” There was something curious about the way he looked at her and a thought struck her. “You think I should be above such things, don’t you? As an earl’s daughter, you—”
“Stop right there.” He’d spoken abruptly, in a manner that put her slightly on edge. Setting down his cutlery, he pushed his plate aside and crossed his arms on the table so he could lean forward and stare straight into her eyes. It was unnerving, the way her heart leapt in response. Not out of foreboding,but with the thrill of being the center of such intense focus. It was both terrifying and wonderful all at the same time.
And then he spoke. “What can I possibly have said or done to make you think I’d ever prevent you from doing something that makes you happy?”
Unable to think, Cassandra could only cling to what she knew of the world she’d grown up in,which happened to be the same one as his. “Women of my rank don’t perform household chores.”
He raised one eyebrow.
Accepting his challenge, she rolled her eyes. “Unless, of course, they’ve allowed themselves to be ruined, run off from home, and decided to live life on their own terms.But,” she added, raising one finger to stop him from interrupting, “that doesn’t mean I should not try to be the respectable wife you deserve.”
“While I appreciate your willingness to give up on something you like for my sake,” he said, “I should probably point out to you at this point, since you do not seem to have realized it on your own, that I’m not your average gentleman.”
“Because you’d rather work for a living even though I’m sure you don’t have to?”
He was the son of a duke, after all, and brother to one now. Cassandra had no doubt in her mind that he or Griffin would ever suffer financially.
But rather than nod, Devlin shook his head and grinned. “No. It is because I told my father he could sod off, if you’ll pardon my French, when he insisted I follow a path I did not want for myself. I left London, much as you did, aware that my father considered me to be a great disappointment.”
“So what you’re saying—”
“Is that you are free to keep doing as you please without any judgment from me.” He frowned, then amended, “Provided you don’t put yourself or anyone else in danger.”
It was hard not to like him when he was being so agreeable. Not that Cassandra wanted todislike him per se, but it would have been easier for her to keep an invisible wall between them – to convince herself he was wrong for her – if he’d been just a little ill-tempered or contrary. It would have been easier for her to stay true to her beliefs.
“If you’re done with your food,” Devlin said, breaking into her thoughts, “I’ll show you where we keep the chickens.”
Cassandra almost spat out the tea she was in the process of drinking. “Chickens?”
“Well,” he told her, eyes gleaming, “we do need to get the eggs for our omelets from somewhere and having chickens on board seems like the best solution.” He stroked his chin as if in thought. The edge of his mouth lifted. “Catching seagulls is devilishly hard, you know, and only possible when—”
He broke off, most likely because of Cassandra’s sputtering laughter. She didn’t dare ask how one would even attempt to catch a seagull while on a moving vessel. Did one have to wait for it to land and then creep up on it, or did one attempt to harpoon it from the deck of the ship. Every option she envisioned was more ridiculous than the last and only increased her laughter.
“I see,” she eventually managed between inhalations. Needing to get herself under some measure of control, she drank the rest of her tea, aware Devlin was smiling at her, his expression one of pure satisfaction.
“Bronswick, together with his son, Trevor, built the coop,” Devlin said once they’d climbed down to the lower deck. Square hatch-like windows that could be closed with the quick tug of a rope offered a reasonable amount of daylight. “What do you think?”
“Penny will love this,” Cassandra said as she watched the chickens strut about, pecking at the corn someone had strewn out for them to eat. To one side was a closed off section inside which straw had been piled. “That must be where they sleep?”
“And where they lay their eggs.”
Cassandra straightened. “I once considered getting chickens at Clearview, but I worried we might forget to put them inside one evening and wake up to find them eaten by a fox.”
