has gone,” I said, settling in next to her.
She blinked at me. “You must be jesting—no, it cannot possibly be a jest. It isn’t funny in the least.”
“He has gone to Edinburgh on business, and said he will return in a few days, which may well be a fortnight or longer for all I know.”
“Oh, isn’t that just like a man to ruin a thrilling romantic gesture by leaving as soon as you’ve come rushing up here to sweep him into your arms and declare your love for him?”
“What a revolting image. You must stop reading novels, Portia. They are ruining you.”
Portia snorted. “Do not ask me to believe you weren’t thinking precisely the same thing. You expected him to take one look at you and fall to one knee and propose instantly.”
I smoothed my skirts primly. “Yes, well. Brisbane has never done what was expected of him. I did, however, make it quite clear to him before he left that I intended we should settle the question of our connection once and for all upon his return.”
“And you think he will hurry back for that, do you?”
“Sometimes I wonder why I bother to confide in you,” I told her irritably.
I fell to nibbling my lip in silence, and Portia stared out at the ceaseless, restless moor.
“This is the most desolate place I have ever seen,” she said tonelessly.
“Oh, it isn’t as bad as all that,” I replied. “Miss Allenby took me for a walk this morning, and I thought the moor quite pretty. Desperately cold, of course, but pretty. You ought to come out with me after luncheon.”
Portia rolled her eyes. “There is no luncheon. It is called dinner here, or hadn’t you heard? And they sit in the kitchen, and they take every meal there, like savages.”
I pinched her arm. “Hush. The Allenbys keep country ways. They cannot afford to heat the dining room.”
“Ah, but Brisbane is now responsible for the cost of heating this place,” she corrected, echoing Morag’s sentiments.
“It makes no difference,” I told her repressively. “They sold the furniture. There is nothing to sit upon and no table to set, so it is the kitchen for you, my girl. Pretend you are at Wuthering Heights. Everyone there ate in the kitchen.”
Portia affected a faraway look and shivered, calling in a high voice, “Heathcliff, where are you? I’m so cooooooold.”
I shoved her. “Don’t be such an ass.”
She rose with a sigh. “I fear lunch, er, dinner will be something quite provincial. Game pie and boiled cabbage, unless I am very much mistaken.”
I linked my arm through hers and drew her down the stairs. “You are a terrible snob, Portia. Have I ever told you that?”
“Frequently.”
The rest of the household had already assembled in the kitchen by the time we arrived. Mrs. Butters was scurrying between oven and table, and although Portia raised her eyes significantly at the sight of the game pie and the bowls of boiled cabbage, I thought the table looked extremely inviting. A clean cloth had been laid, and although it had been mended, it was done with great skill and care, the stitches tiny and precise. A cheap glass vase had been filled with an armful of nodding daffodils, lending an air of gaiety to the room. The serving dishes were pewter rather than silver, but the mellow glow served the room, I decided, and the food itself smelled wonderfully appetising.
Besides the pie and the cabbage, there were dishes of pickles and a large fresh cheese, a great cottage loaf of new bread, and a clutch of boiled eggs. There was even a bowl of newly-picked salad greens, lightly dressed, and a tiny dish of mushrooms fried to crispness.
Lady Allenby was already seated, her walking stick braced against her chair. She motioned to me and I took the chair next to her, while Portia seated herself opposite. Ailith Allenby was helping Mrs. Butters, moving smoothly to carry the last few dishes and to pour a pitcher of beer for the table. In the corner, Jetty was scraping scraps into a basket by the sink, her mouth slack as she looked Portia over carefully from head to foot. I could not blame her. Portia was dressed in a particularly luscious shade of cherry that became her exceedingly well. I had no doubt Jetty had ever seen such a garment in this grey and gloomy corner of England.
Just then the kitchen door opened and a tall man entered, shrugging off a worn tweed coat and doffing his flat cap. He paused a moment to hang his things on a peg by the door, and I took the opportunity to study the newcomer. He was Brisbane’s opposite in almost every way. Though they were both tall men and muscular, this man was blond, with startling blue eyes and lines on his face that marked where he smiled, deeply and often. They were of an age, but it was clear to see from their faces that they had lived very different lives. This was an outdoorsman, a simple man, with simple tastes, I decided; one who would be happy with merely a roof over his head and a fire in his hearth.
He glanced up then, and caught my eye, smiling. I looked away, but he strode to the table, offering his hand.
“You must be one of the ladies from London. Lady Julia or Lady Bettiscombe?”
Before I could reply, Lady Allenby thrust his hand away from mine. “Godwin, manners! You must wait to be presented to a lady, and you have not yet washed.”
His smile did not falter. He withdrew his hand and contented himself with a wink. “I will go and make myself presentable then,” he said, casting his glance wider to include my sister. Portia raised her brows at him as he moved to the sink, dropping a kiss upon Mrs. Butters’ cap as he reached for the cake of soap. “Hello, Jetty, my love,” he said to the bashful hired girl. “Have you had a pleasant morning?” To my astonishment, the mockery had dropped from his tone, and there was only gentle affection.
The little maid flushed with pleasure and smiled, a great wide smile that showed a mouthful of crooked teeth as she giggled.
Mrs. Butters laughed and scolded him for being in the way, but Lady Allenby was not so forgiving.
“I do hope you will excuse him, Lady Julia,” she murmured. “We have despaired of teaching him how to conduct himself. I am afraid we are so isolated here, it is difficult to maintain the proper distance. And he is family, I suppose,” she trailed off, and I thought about the tapestry in the great hall. I had not seen his name stitched there, but then I had not looked for it. I made a mental note to investigate after the meal and hurried to reassure Lady Allenby.
“Think nothing of it, Lady Allenby. I completely understand.”
Godwin finished washing himself and hurried to take a seat at the table. He had his pick of either the chair by Portia or the one next to me, but he chose to partner Portia, offering her his handshake, which she accepted with lazy grace. He complimented her costume and was just moving on to how well it suited her complexion when Ailith sat between her mother and Portia, leaving two empty chairs for Valerius and the mysterious Hilda.
As if thinking had conjured him, Valerius entered then, nodding graciously toward Lady Allenby, and casting a hasty glance over the rest of the table.
“My apologies. Miss Hilda was showing me her chickens,” he explained hastily.
I
