Betsy’s jaw dropped and Yates smiled, somewhat mischievously.
“I… erm…” It was Mrs. Lancaster’s turn to stumble over her words now. “Are you certain you wish to do this, Your Grace?”
“Oh, I’m quite certain. Yes please.”
“Very well.” Mrs. Lancaster gave the nod and together, Betsy and Yates hurried forward to assist.
All the trenchers and plates were gathered, along with serving spoons and the table mats on which they all rested. Margaret led the way toward Theodore’s study. Though she had not been welcomed into that particular room when on her tour, she had seen the door often enough to know what was behind it.
She was tempted to stride straight into the room without knocking at all, but she also had a feeling that to do so would cause outrage, and an argument she had now wish to have. She knocked lightly on the door and waited.
“Yes?” Theodore called from within.
She took that as her welcome cue and opened the door. Far from hovering in the doorway or even hesitating to take in the view of his study, she marched straight in. She walked all the way toward a vast oak desk behind which Theodore sat, then laid her plate down with the cutlery and napkin.
Following her lead, the trencher of smoked fish was placed on top of a stack of papers, just as the bread, jam pots, and various other assorted plates were shuffled around the desk. Finally, the teapot was placed down by Mrs. Lancaster who looked most ill at ease as she struggled to find a free space amongst the papers.
“Will that be all, Your Grace?” she addressed Margaret in particular with this question.
“Yes. Thank you.” Margaret smiled just for her.
Seeming to have a shared silent agreement, Mrs. Lancaster, Betsy and Yates all scurried from the room as quickly as they could, shutting the door lightly behind them.
Margaret flicked out her napkin and rested it on her lap before she dared to lift her gaze to meet her husband’s eye.
Theodore might as well have had the trencher full of smoked fish dumped in his lap from the surprise on his face. His face was a little wan, the jaw slack, and he sat upright in alarm. He had discarded his tailcoat, and his shirt sleeves were rolled up to his arms, much as they had been the night before.
Trying to ignore the flash of attractive skin, Margaret cleared her throat and gestured to the feast she’d ordered arranged on his desk.
“What is this?” he asked tartly.
“It’s called breakfast. Have you never partaken of it before?”
He held up a single plate that had already been beside him, with a rather measly looking cob of bread on it.
“My study is off limits to you. I thought I had made it clear that this is my space in the house –”
“You said I was not allowed to change it. I am not changing it by being in here, am I?” she added with a tone of innocence. “Or do you prescribe to that weird view that I shall somehow poison the air by being in here? A woman in a man’s study. Oh, what a notion!” she declared with heightened drama. “Shall I keel over and faint with shock just to fulfill your expectations of women?”
“This is my room.” He leaned forward sharply.
“You have already said that.” She served up some of the smoked fish on her plate. “If you did not wish me to be in it, then you should have come to the dining room and shared breakfast with me there.”
“Surely the fact I did not come shows you exactly what I thought about taking breakfast with you.”
“Do I disgust you so much?” She deepened her voice. She realized a second later she must have startled him, for he had leaned back in his seat. His mouth even opened and closed as he worked his mind, struggling to know what to say to her. “I am not here to be ignored as much as you do the ornaments on your mantelpiece.”
He rubbed a hand over his face, clearly frustrated with her, though she pushed on.
“I am content with what you said last night. I will make little demands on your time, and I will not expect you in any way to be a husband.” She sat taller in her seat, well aware that he was now fidgeting uncomfortably in his own chair. “I will, however, expect you to be a half decent human being. That starts with sharing one meal a day with me.”
“One?”
“Yes, one.” She reached for the bread next. As well as adding to her own plate, she also added to his. His brows knitted together in response, but he didn’t object. “You may pick which meal it will be.”
He cocked his head to the side as she began to eat. When he said nothing, the silence seemed to invade her mind. It was as if a cloud of darkness was invading her very person.
In order to shake the feeling, she looked around the study.
