Read Online Miss Milton Speaks Her Mind by Carla Kelly - Free Book Online Page A

him. “The village is quiet, the air is better, and I choose it.”
    â€œ What is that like, I wonder,” she said. “To choose something, I mean, and then to do it?” she added, when he looked at her in surprise. “And do not be so astonished! I doubt one female in three has much choice in anything she does.”
    She thought he would laugh, but he only frowned, and then went to stand beside the window. “Now you are watching for Andrew, sir,” she accused him. “He already knows that I am a worrywart, Mr. Butterworth, but I do not think he suspects such a thing of you. Come away, sir!”
    He shook his head, but said nothing, and she was content to watch him there. She was deciding that he was handsome in an impressive sort of way when he turned to her and gestured toward the door. “My dear Miss Milton, let us rummage about belowstairs and locate some refreshment for Andrew when he arrives. If I remember right—can it be over thirty years ago that I was ten?—Latin is a fatiguing business.”
    The kitchen was quite the place she thought it would be, with a cook up to her elbows in flour, and the scullery maid paring potatoes. What surprised her was the light in the room, let in by large windows and accentuated by pale yellow paint. “Such a pleasant kitchen,” she whispered to him. “Sir, did you do all this?”
    Mr. Butterworth nodded, and smiled at the scullery maid, who was beaming at him and sitting up straighter as she worked on the mound of potatoes. “Moira, you are an expert with that knife,” he said, and then, “Mrs. Chatham, do your exertions point to kidney pie for dinner? You are a pearl beyond price.”
    Jane tried to imagine Lady Carruthers even going belowstairs and then speaking to a scullery maid, and could not. Heaven knows she did not speak to me, she thought, watching while Mr. Butterworth engaged his cook in earnest conversation. He was joined by the butler and footman, who each seemed to have a morsel to contribute. I wonder if it is like this belowstairs at Stover, she thought.
    After a few minutes, everyone returned to their duties. Jane picked up the tray, smiling her thanks to Mrs. Chatham. Mr. Butterworth held open the door and admonished her to mind her steps as she walked upstairs. I wonder if he even knows about me, she thought, then decided to plunge ahead.
    â€œ Did you know, Mr. Butterworth, that I came to Stover Hall through the scullery?” she said as she set the tray on the table in the sitting room. “In a letter, Lord Denby told his sister—Lady Carruthers, of course—to retrieve me from the workhouse, but he neglected to add that I was meant to be upstairs, and not belowstairs, so down I went.”
    â€œ I’ve heard those rumors,” he replied, giving her his full attention, in that way of his that she always found perfectly gratifying. “If I may ask, how did you find yourself in a workhouse in the first place?”
    â€œ No one has ever wanted to know,” she said, wishing that her uncertainty did not show. “Are you certain ….”
    â€œ I am certain, Miss Milton,” he said. “In fact, I am firm upon the matter.”
    â€œ My mother was a Stover on a modest branch of the family tree. She made an improvident marriage. My father left us when I was five.” My, I sound so casual, she marveled to herself. “After Mama had contrived and schemed and then sold everything of any value to keep us afloat, she locked the door and we walked to the Leeds workhouse.”
    â€œ Why did she not apply to her Stover relatives instead?” Mr. Butterworth asked, seating himself beside her.
    â€œ Pride, sir. Her father had made no bones about his distaste for the marriage, and on the Milton side, I can only assume that there were grave reservations, as well. And I suppose people said things they could not retract.”
    As she watched his face,