Matthew, is it?” Thankfully, the absurdity of the situation hit Philip, and he burst out laughing. Lucy, after a moment, joined him. “I’ll take that as a no then,” she said, wiping her eyes. “I am glad, for your sake, if not for his.”
They were still smiling as they walked back into the house, and the housemaid dimpled as she greeted them.
D ANNY was up by the house that afternoon, and Mrs. S asked him into the kitchen for a cup of tea. He reckoned she felt sorry for him, kicked out by the guests, but a cup of Mrs. S’s tea on a cold day usually meant a thickly buttered slice of tea loaf too, and wasn’t to be turned down lightly out of pride.
Flora, the new maid, came to join them in high spirits. “I reckon our Mr. Luccombe’s sweet on Miss Shorwell. I saw them coming back in from the shoot, and they was arm in arm, smiling at each other. I reckon he’d just been kissing her—”
“Flora Fielding, that’s enough! You’re not paid to gossip about your betters.” Mrs. S glared down the table at her. “I’m not working right this minute,” she said pertly. “I reckon I can say what I like on my own time.”
“Not in my kitchen, you won’t.” Mrs. S shot a worried glance at Danny, who wasn’t any too pleased to see Flora’s puzzled face turn his way as well.
Danny sighed, and rose from the table. “Thanks for the tea, Mrs. S. I’d best be on my way, now. Plenty to do.”
“True enough. You’ll have your work cut out for you with that shooting party. As will I, as someone’s got to cater for them. Have you engaged all the beaters you’llneed?”
Danny nodded, willing to linger now the talk wasn’t of Mr. Luccombe’s affections. “There’s plenty retired folk down the village keen enough to earn an extra shilling.”
“No doubt. Well, if you’ll stay a moment, I’ll wrap up a bit of this tea loaf for you to take with you.” She heaved herself to her feet and cut off full half the loaf.
“That’s kind of you, Mrs. S, but—”
“It won’t take but a minute,” she said firmly, and Danny’s protests subsided.
True enough, it wasn’t long before Danny was on his way, the greased-paper parcel weighing down his pocket a wry comfort, in its way. He hesitated before taking his usual route that went around the house to cut across the corner of the gardens. Was it proper, with guests at the manor? But he doubted Philip would call him to task on it, and Lord, he was sick enough of changing his ways to suit folk he’d not even met.
As he neared the corner, he caught a snatch of verse being spoken aloud, as if the speaker were on a stage, performing to an audience. That’d be the younger cousin, he’d be bound. He’d heard talk of the lad’s theatrical ways— a great source of amusement below stairs, though it didn’t do to let Mrs. Standish catch you mocking a guest at the manor. Danny wondered if he’d find him alone, talking to the trees, and smiled to himself, thinking he’d try and creep past silently so as not to embarrass the lad.
When he rounded the corner, though, he saw there were two men there in the twilight. With a jolt, he realized they were holding hands, gazing like lovers into one another’s eyes.
It was Matthew Cranmore, all right. Must be, with that fancy suit and those fine features.
And he was holding hands with Philip.
M ATTHEW had demanded instruction on how to improve his technique at billiards almost as soon as Philip had returned from his eventful walk with Lucy. Thankful to find his young cousin was, for once, sincere, rather than using it as an opportunity for flirtation, Philip had played several frames with him, and the light was beginning to fade by the time they laid down their cues.
“Shall we take a stroll, Cousin Philip?” Matthew suggested, stretching. “Although I suppose we shan’t get far before dark.”
“Oh. Yes, of course.” As he collected the necessary warm outer layers, Philip reflected that no one, not even
They were still smiling as they walked back into the house, and the housemaid dimpled as she greeted them.
D ANNY was up by the house that afternoon, and Mrs. S asked him into the kitchen for a cup of tea. He reckoned she felt sorry for him, kicked out by the guests, but a cup of Mrs. S’s tea on a cold day usually meant a thickly buttered slice of tea loaf too, and wasn’t to be turned down lightly out of pride.
Flora, the new maid, came to join them in high spirits. “I reckon our Mr. Luccombe’s sweet on Miss Shorwell. I saw them coming back in from the shoot, and they was arm in arm, smiling at each other. I reckon he’d just been kissing her—”
“Flora Fielding, that’s enough! You’re not paid to gossip about your betters.” Mrs. S glared down the table at her. “I’m not working right this minute,” she said pertly. “I reckon I can say what I like on my own time.”
“Not in my kitchen, you won’t.” Mrs. S shot a worried glance at Danny, who wasn’t any too pleased to see Flora’s puzzled face turn his way as well.
Danny sighed, and rose from the table. “Thanks for the tea, Mrs. S. I’d best be on my way, now. Plenty to do.”
“True enough. You’ll have your work cut out for you with that shooting party. As will I, as someone’s got to cater for them. Have you engaged all the beaters you’llneed?”
Danny nodded, willing to linger now the talk wasn’t of Mr. Luccombe’s affections. “There’s plenty retired folk down the village keen enough to earn an extra shilling.”
“No doubt. Well, if you’ll stay a moment, I’ll wrap up a bit of this tea loaf for you to take with you.” She heaved herself to her feet and cut off full half the loaf.
“That’s kind of you, Mrs. S, but—”
“It won’t take but a minute,” she said firmly, and Danny’s protests subsided.
True enough, it wasn’t long before Danny was on his way, the greased-paper parcel weighing down his pocket a wry comfort, in its way. He hesitated before taking his usual route that went around the house to cut across the corner of the gardens. Was it proper, with guests at the manor? But he doubted Philip would call him to task on it, and Lord, he was sick enough of changing his ways to suit folk he’d not even met.
As he neared the corner, he caught a snatch of verse being spoken aloud, as if the speaker were on a stage, performing to an audience. That’d be the younger cousin, he’d be bound. He’d heard talk of the lad’s theatrical ways— a great source of amusement below stairs, though it didn’t do to let Mrs. Standish catch you mocking a guest at the manor. Danny wondered if he’d find him alone, talking to the trees, and smiled to himself, thinking he’d try and creep past silently so as not to embarrass the lad.
When he rounded the corner, though, he saw there were two men there in the twilight. With a jolt, he realized they were holding hands, gazing like lovers into one another’s eyes.
It was Matthew Cranmore, all right. Must be, with that fancy suit and those fine features.
And he was holding hands with Philip.
M ATTHEW had demanded instruction on how to improve his technique at billiards almost as soon as Philip had returned from his eventful walk with Lucy. Thankful to find his young cousin was, for once, sincere, rather than using it as an opportunity for flirtation, Philip had played several frames with him, and the light was beginning to fade by the time they laid down their cues.
“Shall we take a stroll, Cousin Philip?” Matthew suggested, stretching. “Although I suppose we shan’t get far before dark.”
“Oh. Yes, of course.” As he collected the necessary warm outer layers, Philip reflected that no one, not even
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