Page 102 of The Cottage at Brambleton Hall

Nate’s expression remained commendably neutral.

The pub sat right on the curve of the quay, windows thrown open to the sultry September morning. Sammy stopped inside the doorway, taking in the empty tables, smoothing her skirt. She couldn’t see anyone. She wondered if she’d got the time wrong. A grunt somewhere behind the bar, then Rose’s head appeared, a crate of empty bottles in her arms. ‘There she is,’ Rose called. ‘The new housekeeper from the Hall.’

Rose was somewhere in her forties, handsome rather than pretty, with cropped dark hair and the sort of direct stare that made people confess things accidentally.

‘Magnus sent you then?’ Rose asked.

‘He suggested this was a good place to learn silver service properly.’

Rose snorted. ‘Trust Magnus to outsource social interaction.’

‘George,’ Rose bellowed, ‘you stop pretending you’re busy back there. She’s here.’

George trotted out broad as a doorway and flushed from kitchen heat, wearing chef whites with his apron hanging loose around his waist,

Rose handed Sammy a tray. ‘Right then. Show me how you carry that.’

For the next half an hour, Sammy balanced plates while Rose corrected her posture with ruthless precision.

‘Not like you’re carrying paving slabs,’ Rose told her. ‘You’re gliding.’

‘I don’t glide.’

‘Well start.’

George balanced three empty plates with cutlery along one arm. ‘Watch the wrist,’ he said kindly. ‘Everything’s in the wrist.’

Sammy copied him and nearly lost a fork. Rose caught it neatly before it hit the floor.

By the time they finally allowed her to sit down with a lemonade, the pub had grown louder around them. Rose leaned her elbows on the counter. ‘How are you surviving up there?’

‘Barely,’ Sammy admitted.

George chuckled. ‘Magnus keeping you marching in straight lines?’

‘Basically.’

Rose shook her head fondly. ‘That man was born fifty years old.’

‘He’s not that bad,’ Sammy said quickly.

‘Didn’t say he was bad,’ Rose replied. ‘Just devoted.’

‘Lives to serve, does Magnus,’ said George. ‘Always has.’

Rose tutted. ‘Shame really.’

‘Why?’ asked Sammy.

Rose polished the beer pumps as she spoke. ‘Because there’s more to life than polishing silver and terrifying people with eyebrows and pocket watches.’

‘He’s loyal though,’ Sammy said.

‘Oh, absolutely,’ Rose agreed at once. ‘Best sort of man when things go wrong. You’d trust Magnus with your life.’

‘Wouldn’t trust him to relax with it,’ George added.

That made Sammy smile.