“Like this,” she told him gently. “Not too hard you're not trying to punish it. Just... suggest that it take the shape you want it to take. Persuade it.”
Reuben nodded, his expression full of determination as he pressed his own small portion of dough with both hands. Jane could tell by his furrowed brows just how much effort he was putting in hopes of doing it correctly.
From the other end of the worktop, the cook – Lucas, a man Jane had learned shortly after meeting had the softest heart beneath his rough exterior – watched them with visible amusement. But along the edges of his expression lay a slight wince, which Jane knew was a sign that he was quietly suffering because he ceded control of his domain and was trying – and failing – to make peace with it.
“The biscuit cutters are to your left, Your Grace, when you're ready,” he offered, nonetheless still as kind as ever
“Thank you, Lucas,” Jane smiled at him. “We'll be sure to keep our messes as minimal as possible – and we’ll tidy up afterwards. I promise.”
However, Jane knew, even as she said it, that this was an overly optimistic promise. Afterall, things had not been going her way recently.
She had woken that morning with the feel of Thomas' hands on her waist, his mouth still warm against the memory of her throat. She could still smell him, feel his smile pressed to her lips, no matter how she wished she did not. Jane had lain in her bed staring at the canopy for a considerable amount of time before she accepted that she would not be able to simply think herself into a state of calm.
Two nights ago, in that locked drawing room at Penelope's ball, she had made a series of decisions that had felt, in the moment, like the only logical thing she could go, given the circumstances she had found herself in. And when the morning light dawnedon her, the choices she had made felt as though she had brought herself to the edge of something steep and realizing, belatedly, how high up she was.
She needed to be sensible. They had – she counted carefully – less than a month remaining of their agreement. Four weeks, perhaps slightly fewer, before their three months concluded and whatever amicable arrangement they had built dissolved back into separate lives. She had understood this from the beginning. She had accepted it as the terms. She was not the sort of woman to revise an agreement because things had become inconvenient.
She was also not the sort of woman who stood naked in locked rooms at her friends' homes, so apparently, she was revising a number of things about herself.
What terrified her the most about that moment was how good it had felt – and therein lay the problem. She had gotten lost, swept up by his words and his charm and had acted immensely recklessly. This could no longer continue, or else she was bound to meet a disastrous end.
Now, Jane was doing what she could to avoid Thomas, which had gone better than she had expected it to on the first day, but she could not trust that luck would remain on her side. Which was one of the reasons why she was hiding away in what might be the last place he might have hoped to find her.
Reuben tugged her sleeve and she blinked, looking down at his expectantly open face.
“Right,” she said, shaking her head in hopes of casting thoughts of her husband aside. “The cutters. Shall we make usual round ones? Or – oh, there's a rabbit one.”
She held it out to him with an excited grin. “What do you think?”
He pointed at the rabbit decisively, looking just as excited as she was. Jane’s heart thrummed with quiet and deep fondness and she nodded, pushing the rest of the cutters aside.
“Excellent choice, sir,” she approved, and pressed it into his hands. “Let us begin, then.”
The next twenty minutes passed pleasantly. The warm weight of the kitchen settled around her – the low heat from the ovens, the smell of the butter browning in the pan where Lucas was preparing the glaze, Reuben's determined concentration as he pressed the cutter into the dough with both hands. He was doing what he could to be careful, which made Jane happy to see.
He was so young, yet so thoughtful and deliberate. It made her believe that he would be just fine, regardless of how things would happen later.
Jane watched him lift the cut piece and examine it, turning it over with careful scrutiny, painting a picture of a scholar reviewing important documents. She pressed her lips together in an effort not to laugh, inhaling deeply with her eyes closed, before she looked down at him.
“Very fine work,” she told him gravely. “I believe that is the finest rabbit biscuit I have ever seen.”
He looked up at her, quiet satisfaction written across his small face, and she felt her chest compress with something soft and aching that she didn't know quite what to do with.
She picked up the small flour bowl beside her – intending to dust the worktop before rolling the next portion – but her reach was slightly wider than she had calculated, and her elbow caught the rim, and a good handful of flour lifted into the air and settled directly across Reuben's nose and forehead.
A perfect white dusting, precise as powder, deserving of awe in any other situation. Reuben went very still, his eyes wide as he gazed up at her.
Jane pressed her lips together again, not sure what to do or where to do. Lucas made a small strangled sound at the far end of the worktop and Jane felt immensely apologetic towards the man.
Then Reuben blinked – once, slowly, like an owl – and the corners of his mouth curved upward, and a laugh came out of him, high and bright and entirely unguarded.
Jane felt the sound go straight through her and saw there was no use in restraining her own laughter, permitting her lips to set free a burst of giggles.
“Oh, that was an accident,” she pouted, failing completely to sound serious as she fumbled about, searching for a napkin. “I am so sorry, darling. Here – let me –”
Reuben plunged both hands into the flour bowl before she could finish her sentence, his eyes glittering with mischief.
“Wait –” was all she managed before he brought his hands up and deposited a spectacular cloud of flour directly into her face.
