For several minutes they ate and drank in convivial silence.
“I almost wish,” Evelyn said, “that we were contemplating shipping out to the colonies.”
“Do you desire living rough?” Mayson asked. “I can certainly do it, if that is what you wish.”
“Not precisely that,” she said. “More that I would very much like to have something of my own, to be able to make plans and changes and contrive.”
“I have noticed you contrive a great deal,” Mayson said, cutting and dishing up a generous slice of pie for her. “Much to the Duchess’ benefit.”
She took the pie, their fingers brushing lightly against each other as the plate exchanged hands. She nibbled thoughtfully at a flaky bit of pie crust, thinking hard before replying. “Yes, but that is not the same as contriving something of your own.”
“I understand,” Mayson said sympathetically. “I frequently felt that way when I was living in my father’s house.”
“If you could live anywhere,” Evelyn asked, “Where would you like to live?”
“That is a very good question. In many ways I would be delighted to ship out to the colonies with you. I have often wondered, however, if we’re doing the people who already live there any favors.”
“An interesting consideration,” Evelyn replied thoughtfully, “and I’m sure I do not know the answer.”
“How fortunate it is,” Mayson smiled at her as he spoke, “that we do not have to solve the problems of the world today.”
“No, indeed,” Evelyn said. “We have only to enjoy this luscious pie you have made and the warm sunshine. I cannot believe you have managed to keep the cider chilled.”
“It is easy enough,” Mayson said. “There is a spring house next to the kitchen. A towel soaked in the cold water and wrapped around the jug will keep it chilled for some time. It is one reason I am able to make such lovely dishes for the Duchess. It keeps the cream, milk, and cheese well chilled. That is why we can have whipping cream and special icings.”
“I had wondered,” Evelyn commented. “We had such a hard time when we were living in London to keep things cool in the summer. London does get so very awfully hot.”
“And smells bad besides,” Mayson added. “Such a ferment of animal droppings and other things out in the streets.”
“That is, I believe,” Evelyn said, “why the peerage all take to the countryside during the summer. It is said to be much healthier.”
“Well, I don’t know about that,” Mayson said, “but I can assure you that it certainly smells better. I had a very difficult time getting used to that part of living at the prestigious school I attended.”
“It was in London?”
“Oh, yes. You do not think that my uncle wanted me anywhere near the estate, do you? Out of sight, out of mind, or at least that was what he hoped.”
“Do you think anyone still working at the estate would recognize you?”
“Probably not. It has been a good many years since I disappeared, and even more since the staff that my father hired was there.”
Evelyn frowned a moment, then looked up at him. “Is it difficult being so near and not visiting?”
“Very much so,” Mayson said, “but if I go back and I am recognized then I must claim Hillsworth, whether I am ready or not.”
“Yes, I suppose so,” Evelyn said. She did not say what was in her heart. If Mayson went back to Hillsworth, she would have to give him up. He would need a wife who would add to his status, not a poor shopkeeper’s daughter. Still, they had this day, with the sun on the water, and the old willow giving them shade. She did not want to give that up.
For a few minutes Evelyn looked out across the water, watching its slow glide between its banks. What did she want? John had been a wonderful husband but he was gone now. She liked Mayson very much but could not see a future for them. While it was a wonderful fantasy that they should run away to the colonies or to New South Wales, realistically the best thing for Hillsworth and for Mayson, was for him to go home and take up his inheritance now that he was well past being of age.
“You are very quiet,” Mayson said. “Are you thinking deep thoughts?”
“No,” Evelyn lied. “I am thinking that you are the best cook this estate has ever had and your absence will be felt.”
“It is good to know that I will be missed, but I am not gone yet.” Mayson watched her closely, a slight frown on his brow. He reached over, and gently took one of her hands in his.
“Quite so,” Evelyn said, tightening her fingers around his. “Is it not a beautiful afternoon?”
“It is,” Mayson agreed. Neither of them spoke of the trepidation that was in their hearts. Nor did they notice the listener who slipped away from behind the veiling fronds of weeping willow, the rustling masked by the sound of the water.