times, but never dressed in a gown meant for catching a husband.
The end was inevitable. The water splashed. The bucket rubbed. Despite her care, something somehow smudged two very large streaks of mud across her skirt. She saw them and bit back a sigh of dismay. He heard it, of course, and immediately began to apologize. But she shook her head with a forced laugh. “Never mind. I have dozens of gowns,” she lied.
He searched her face but didn’t comment, though his brows were narrowed in a frown. And into the silence, the kettle at last began to sing. She moved quickly to it, pulling out cups and tea. But when she turned back around, he had disappeared back to the stream to fetch more water. By the time he returned, she had already set out wafers and cheese and was just about to pour.
She stood to help him, but the filter was already set up. He shook his head firmly and then heaved the bucket up to pour. He moved effortlessly, without even sweat on his lip, and Maddy couldn’t help but stare. She knew exactly how heavy those buckets were when full. Even their largest footman huffed and puffed when he brought water. But not Mr. Frazier. Whatever had caused his scars, it had not impaired his abilities except for his limp. And even that was not so pronounced as to require a cane.
“That will take a moment,” she said softly when he had set down the second bucket. “Would you care to join me for tea while you wait?”
He flashed her a smile, so fast she thought she might have imagined it. But then he crossed to sit beside her at the large table, sitting down with his usual silence.
“How do you take it?” she asked, excruciatingly aware of how large he was right beside her. Or perhaps not so large, as she was rather tall herself. In truth, they were nearly alike in their height, but he was clearly stronger than she. More powerful too. More everything, in fact, and it made her feel delightfully feminine. Imagine that. Her, of the Amazonian build, feeling small! It actually took her breath away. So much so that she nearly missed how long it took him to answer her question about his tea.
“Sweet,” he finally forced out. “I like it sweet.”
Perhaps so, she thought, but surely not as sweet as what Rose’s tea had been this afternoon. She plopped one large teaspoon of sugar in it and extended cup and saucer carefully toward him. He took it as if they were in the regent’s drawing room, with precise fingers and a refined, “Thank you.”
It was all very normal, she thought, and yet absolutely bizarre. They were not in a salon, the regent’s or otherwise. And even though he was the cousin of an earl, his hands were scarred with cuts and layered with calluses. His clothing was that of a poor sailor, and he had nearly choked her to death. And yet, she sipped her tea with him in companionable silence as if this were truly the most normal thing in the world.
“Were you at a ball this evening?” he asked, gesturing to her attire.
“What?” she gasped as she was jolted from her musing. “Oh no. A musical evening. Boring really, but unmarried women must be seen.”
He nodded but didn’t comment. She searched his face for a clue but got nothing. She wondered if he’d heard her uncle’s proposition this afternoon. Surely he had a thought or an opinion. Then she nearly kicked herself for her stupidity. Was she hoping for a rescuer? She of all people knew that they didn’t exist. In fact, the very idea soured her stomach and she set down her teacup with a click.
“You know,” she said a little too tartly. “We must consider the question of your payment. Uncle Frank will bluster and threaten, but do not allow him to charge you more than a shilling a night. He should not be charging you at all, but his Christian charity apparently stopped with me.” It took a moment for her to realize what she’d said, and then her mood abruptly plummeted. Apparently, her uncle had something other than charity in mind
The end was inevitable. The water splashed. The bucket rubbed. Despite her care, something somehow smudged two very large streaks of mud across her skirt. She saw them and bit back a sigh of dismay. He heard it, of course, and immediately began to apologize. But she shook her head with a forced laugh. “Never mind. I have dozens of gowns,” she lied.
He searched her face but didn’t comment, though his brows were narrowed in a frown. And into the silence, the kettle at last began to sing. She moved quickly to it, pulling out cups and tea. But when she turned back around, he had disappeared back to the stream to fetch more water. By the time he returned, she had already set out wafers and cheese and was just about to pour.
She stood to help him, but the filter was already set up. He shook his head firmly and then heaved the bucket up to pour. He moved effortlessly, without even sweat on his lip, and Maddy couldn’t help but stare. She knew exactly how heavy those buckets were when full. Even their largest footman huffed and puffed when he brought water. But not Mr. Frazier. Whatever had caused his scars, it had not impaired his abilities except for his limp. And even that was not so pronounced as to require a cane.
“That will take a moment,” she said softly when he had set down the second bucket. “Would you care to join me for tea while you wait?”
He flashed her a smile, so fast she thought she might have imagined it. But then he crossed to sit beside her at the large table, sitting down with his usual silence.
“How do you take it?” she asked, excruciatingly aware of how large he was right beside her. Or perhaps not so large, as she was rather tall herself. In truth, they were nearly alike in their height, but he was clearly stronger than she. More powerful too. More everything, in fact, and it made her feel delightfully feminine. Imagine that. Her, of the Amazonian build, feeling small! It actually took her breath away. So much so that she nearly missed how long it took him to answer her question about his tea.
“Sweet,” he finally forced out. “I like it sweet.”
Perhaps so, she thought, but surely not as sweet as what Rose’s tea had been this afternoon. She plopped one large teaspoon of sugar in it and extended cup and saucer carefully toward him. He took it as if they were in the regent’s drawing room, with precise fingers and a refined, “Thank you.”
It was all very normal, she thought, and yet absolutely bizarre. They were not in a salon, the regent’s or otherwise. And even though he was the cousin of an earl, his hands were scarred with cuts and layered with calluses. His clothing was that of a poor sailor, and he had nearly choked her to death. And yet, she sipped her tea with him in companionable silence as if this were truly the most normal thing in the world.
“Were you at a ball this evening?” he asked, gesturing to her attire.
“What?” she gasped as she was jolted from her musing. “Oh no. A musical evening. Boring really, but unmarried women must be seen.”
He nodded but didn’t comment. She searched his face for a clue but got nothing. She wondered if he’d heard her uncle’s proposition this afternoon. Surely he had a thought or an opinion. Then she nearly kicked herself for her stupidity. Was she hoping for a rescuer? She of all people knew that they didn’t exist. In fact, the very idea soured her stomach and she set down her teacup with a click.
“You know,” she said a little too tartly. “We must consider the question of your payment. Uncle Frank will bluster and threaten, but do not allow him to charge you more than a shilling a night. He should not be charging you at all, but his Christian charity apparently stopped with me.” It took a moment for her to realize what she’d said, and then her mood abruptly plummeted. Apparently, her uncle had something other than charity in mind
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