to do something about finding somewhere to sleep really, but I could do with fortifying before I can face going upstairs again. The whole place is like an icehouse.’
‘We...we could sleep in the kitchen,’ she suggested, taking a sip of her own tea. ‘It is, at least, warm.’
‘Absolutely not,’ he said, setting his own cup down firmly on the table—with some relief that he had a valid excuse for doing so without having to endure any more of the noxiously syrupy drink. ‘There are a dozen perfectly serviceable bedrooms above stairs. And just because you’ve put on an apron and have to act like a cook doesn’t mean you need to sleep below stairs, as well.’
‘I’ve slept in worse places,’ she admitted.
‘Yes, maybe you have, but you’re married to me now and it is my job to take care of you.’ He was going to do better than his own father had done with Julia’s mother. He wasn’t going to assume Mary should be grateful for the privilege of bearing his name, and his title, no matter what the circumstances.
‘Of course,’ she said meekly, before rising and going across to a sort of preparation area near the stove and cracking several eggs into a bowl.
She didn’t utter a word of reproof, but the set of her back as she grated some cheese into the egg mixture told him he really shouldn’t have raised his voice to her just now.
He cleared his throat.
‘It’s very clever of you to know how to do all this sort of thing.’
‘It was necessary,’ she said, pouring the egg mixture into a pan where she’d already started some butter melting. ‘If I hadn’t learned how to cook, once Papa died, we would have gone hungry. We’d never been all that well off, but after he went, we had to move into a much smaller place and let all the servants go.’ She frowned as she kept pulling the slowly setting mixture from the edges into the middle. ‘Mama did the purchasing and tried to learn how to keep the household accounts in order, while I did the actual physical work of keeping house.’
‘Well, I’m glad of it,’ he said, and then, realising how heartless that sounded, added hastily, ‘I mean, glad you can turn your hand to cooking. That smells wonderful,’ he said, desperately hoping to make up lost ground. ‘Anything I can do to help?’
She stirred the egg mixture several more times before making her reply.
‘It might go down better with some wine,’ she suggested as she added some ham to the egg mixture. ‘But only if you can fetch it quickly. This won’t take but a minute more.’
He didn’t need telling twice. Lord, but he needed to get out of the kitchen before he said something even more tactless and shattered the tentative hold she must be keeping on her temper with him. He returned, with a dusty bottle and two wine glasses, just as she was sliding the omelette on to a plate.
‘Not the best crystal,’ he said, putting the bottle down beside his place setting and pulling a corkscrew from his pocket. ‘But you did specify haste, so I got these from the butler’s pantry.’
‘I’m not used to the best crystal, anyway.’
She startled him then, by looking up at him and smiling ruefully. That she could still muster a smile, any kind of smile, and turn it his way, felt nothing short of miraculous. He dropped into his chair with relief, picked up his fork, swearing to himself he’d praise her cooking to the skies no matter what it tasted like.
But in the event, there was no need to feign appreciation.
‘This has got to be,’ he said, ‘one of the tastiest omelettes I’ve ever eaten.’
She flushed and smiled again, this time with what looked like real pleasure.
‘The...the wine is very good, too,’ she reciprocated, having taken a sip.
‘Don’t go heaping coals of fire on my head. Coming here has been a disaster. All my fault. And you haven’t uttered a single word of complaint. You’re the only woman I know who wouldn’t be ringing a peal over my head.’
‘This really isn’t so very bad,’ she replied, lowering her gaze to her plate, ‘compared to some of the things that have happened to me.’
‘What do you mean?’ He hadn’t really learned all that much about her past, now he came to think of it. He’d been in such a hurry to get her to the altar he hadn’t taken the time to talk.
‘Oh, just...well, it was bad enough after Papa died, but at least Mama and I managed to maintain our independence. Even if it did mean moving frequently, to keep one step ahead of our creditors.’ She flushed, and moved the omelette round and round on her plate, before taking a deep breath and plunging on.
‘But when she died, her annuity died with her. I really did have absolutely nothing, for a while. Fortunately, I managed to track down the lawyer who’d dealt with Papa’s affairs, hoping he would have some solution. But all he did was refer me to Papa’s relations. None of whom wanted the added burden of an indigent female. I really was at my wit’s end by the time I reached London and my aunt Pargetter. I thought...’ She looked up and flashed him a tight smile. ‘Well, you can see why all this...’ she waved her hand round the kitchen, much as he’d done earlier ‘...doesn’t seem so very dreadful. At least nobody can turn me out into that storm, can they? And we have food and a fire.’ She shrugged and popped another forkful of omelette into her mouth.
He didn’t know what to say. She’d been through so much. So bravely. And all on her own. And here he’d been, half expecting her to throw a tantrum like some spoiled society miss.
He pushed his empty plate to one side.
‘Come on, let’s go and see about somewhere to sleep.’
‘But I need to wash the dishes....’
‘Leave ’em. Plenty more about the place, I’m sure. So we can have clean ones in the morning. The staff can do the washing up when they get back. That’s what I pay ’em for.’ He went round the table and pulled her to her feet. ‘I’m glad you’ve pitched in and put a meal together, but I draw the line at you washing dishes.’
‘I’ll just stack them in the scullery, then.’
‘Very well.’
‘I think,’ she said, with a shy smile, ‘that I’m going to like being Lady Havelock.’
‘What! After this?’
‘I have always hated washing up,’ she said, wiping her hands and tossing her apron aside. ‘It’s wonderful to just do the things I enjoy and leave the unpleasant tasks to others.’
Wonderful? From his point of view, it was wonderful she could describe any part of this evening in positive terms. ‘Glad to hear it,’ he said, tucking her arm into his and leading her up the stairs.
‘This way,’ he said, tugging her to the left and pulling a bunch of keys from his pocket.
He proudly flung open the double doors at the head of the stairs.
‘The master bedroom,’ he said. Then reeled back, coughing, at the musty smell that wafted out to greet him.
‘It
