“It’s certainly harder than it looks – good work for the muscles.” He looked up from the bowl and met her gaze for a brief second. Amusement danced in his eyes and Ida’s stomach immediately tumbled over. With his hair all mussed and flour marring his cheek, it was easy for her to forget who he was and pretend they were from the same class.
“I think that’s good. We’ll cover it now and set it aside for half an hour while we prepare the vegetables and meat.”
“You’ve clearly done this before,” he said an hour later once the stew was simmering on the stove and the tea buns had been placed in the oven. “Did your mother teach you how to cook?”
“Yes.” Ida gave him a sentimental smile and proceeded to make a fresh pot of tea. “She thought it a useful skill to pass on to me, and considering how my life has turned out, I’m exceedingly grateful she did.”
A mournful silence followed during which Ida wasn’t sure if he was feeling sorry over the loss of her parents or over the loss of status she’d suffered. Perhaps it was both. To her relief, he didn’t offer apologies or voice his regret, he simply said, “She gave you a better foundation than I received from my parents. I’m not sure I’d have the skill required to survive if I were to lose my station.”
“You would figure it out.”
“I’m not so sure about that.”
“And I beg to differ. Do you have any hobbies?”
“A gentleman hardly has time for anything else.” There was levity in his voice and yet she was certain she heard a hint of disparagement too. “My favorite pastime activity is riding.”
Ida winced. “I’ve only been on a horse once. Didn’t much care for it I’m afraid.”
“Then it was probably the wrong horse.”
“Hmm.” She wasn’t so sure.
“I’ve a great interest in horses,” he added. “The ones I own have been carefully selected and are very much sought after. Several men, including the king himself, have made numerous attempts to purchase a few of them, but alas, I’ve had to turn them away.”
“Because they didn’t offer enough?”
“No. My horses are special to me, Miss Strong. Nothing in the world would ever make me part with them.”
She tilted her head. “You might think differently if the choice was between keeping them and putting food in your belly.”
“Perhaps.”
“So then, if you did fall on hard times all would not be lost,” she said with amusement. “You could seek a position as a royal horse breeder, which I’m sure is not the worst position in the world.”
He grinned. “You’re different from anyone else I’ve met, Miss Strong. I must say I find your company more refreshing than I’d have imagined.”
“I’ll take that as a compliment, my lord.” Surrendering to the pull of her lips, she gave him a wide smile. “You’re also not as bad as I feared. Quite the opposite, in fact. Shall we see how your tea buns have turned out?”
Chapter Five
The excitement in her voice was just as dizzying as her bright smile and the abrupt shift in conversation. Simon blinked, then immediately stood. He was actually rather eager to see the result of what he’d made with her help. Grabbing a tea towel he opened the oven. A warm, wholesome smell wafted toward him as he pulled the baking tray out and placed it on the table.
“Those look delicious,” Miss Strong said as she sidled up next to him. “Well done, my lord.”
Simon stared down at the most beautiful buns he’d ever seen. They were so plump and golden, he was tempted to snatch one up right away and sink his teeth into it. Only they were still hot and he’d probably burn himself if he did so. Miss Strong had been right. He did feel a wonderful sense of accomplishment right now, for he’d done something he’d not imagined himself capable of, and with excellent results, it would seem.
He met Miss Strong’s gaze and was instantly struck by a strong sense of camaraderie. It was nice, being here with her like this, sharing an activity he never would have engaged in otherwise, and it occurred to him that no one had ever complimented him before. Growing up, he’d always been told he could do better, never that he’d done well. Now, as an adult, people praised his possessions, not him.
“Tea’s ready,” she said and broke eye contact by crossing to one of the cabinets and retrieving a cup for him. “I’ll just fetch the one I used earlier this morning. No sense in getting another one dirty.”
By the time she returned, Simon had found a couple of plates, placed the buns in a bread basket, and made a space for each of them at the table. He offered the basket to Miss Strong as soon as she’d taken a seat.
“Thank you. Would you like some jam with yours?” She gestured toward the jar she’d just pulled toward the center of the table. “It’s raspberry.”
“I’d love some. After you.” He watched as she broke the bun apart and placed a generous dollop of jam on one side. Following suit, he finally allowed himself a bite.
Heaven exploded inside his mouth.
