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“I’m so happy to hear that you like it,” Jean said with a smile. “It’s one of my favorite recipes to prepare.”
“Does that mean you serve it often?” Rose sat up a little straighter.
“Well, Miss Rose,” Jean said, “I make it a habit to serve things that the people I’m serving love best. This was never one of His Grace’s favorite dishes, so I haven’t had that much occasion to make it. But now that you live here with us, I’ll be wanting to make your favorite things as well.”
“This is one of my favorites,” Rose said firmly.
“Then I’m sure we’ll have it all the time,” Jean said.
Rose beamed and turned to Amanda. “Did you hear that? We’re going to have it all the time because of me!”
“What do you say to Jean?” Amanda prompted.
“Thank you!” Rose enthused. “I’m so glad you’re the cook here. May I come and visit you sometimes?”
“As often as you’d like, as long as Her Grace says it’s all right.” Jean looked up at Amanda, who nodded. “I love a little company in the kitchen.”
They finished their snack, bid farewell to Jean, and stepped back out into the hallway that would take them in the direction of the foyer. Rose danced on her toes as they made their way in the direction of her bedroom once more. “That was lovely,” she said. “I might enjoy living here after all, if it’s going to be like that. Such delicious food! It wasn’t like that back at home.”
Home again…still, Amanda did not correct her.
“Let’s go and see if the duke returned home while we were meeting Jean,” she suggested. “He might be in his study, and if he is, this would be a very good time for you to meet him.”
Rose bit her lip. “Are you sure?” she asked, nerves showing on her face. “I don’t want to bother him. Maybe he’d rather we didn’t come and talk to him just now. If he’s in his study, he must want to be on his own.”
“Don’t be nervous,” Amanda said. “It’s going to be all right. I promise you, it will. He’s a good man, even if he is a bit…”
“Scary? Mad?”
“Intimidating,” Amanda clarified. “He isn’t mad, nor is he anything to be afraid of. And you know you’re going to have to meet him eventually, so let’s just go right now and get it over with.”
She took Rose’s hand and led the way.
CHAPTER 12
The knock at the door was timid, and at first Sampson wasn’t sure he’d heard it. When it came again, it was a little louder and accompanied by a familiar voice. “Sampson? Are you in there?”
He sat up straighter. He had been sitting quietly, lost in thought about George. It was impossible on days like this not to think about his old friend who had been lost in the war, and the fact that he’d spent time with Oliver was making it even more difficult somehow.
I married her, George. I hope that’s what you’d have wanted me to do…
It was impossible to know. He was sure that would torment him forever.
“Come in,” he said. If she needed something, anything, he would see to it. That was what he had promised.
The door opened, and Amanda came in. For a moment, he was distracted by the sight of her—her warm eyes, her auburn hair that caught the light from the window when she turned, the radiance of her smile. Of course, George would have wanted this. Of course, he would want to be sure she was cared for now that he couldn’t be here to do it himself.
She stepped farther into the room, and from behind her a little girl emerged. Dark blonde hair, slim to the point of being skinny—she needs to be fed was Sampson’s first thought. She had sharp eyes that scanned the room as though looking for danger.
“Rose,” Amanda said, “this is His Grace, the Duke of Mortridge. Sampson, this is Rose.”
Rose looked at Sampson, then looked away quickly. Sampson was used to that. It was what people did all the time when they hadn’t been around him for long, when they were adjusting to the sight of his scar.
It usually bothered him. Angered him. It made him want to shout at them to stop being so timid and just look their fill. Hadn’t they ever seen a scar before? Did they think it was contagious, that if they looked at him too long they would develop scars on their own faces?
That was how he usually felt. But today, with the little girl, it was different.
She was just so timid. It reminded him of the way he felt sometimes when his reflection caught him by surprise, when he hadn’t been expecting the sight of his scarred face and encountered it anyway. The shock. The moment of revulsion. He understood. It was impossible to be angry with her.
