“Oh. Then yes, please.” She stretched her hands to the warmth of the fire. “What can I do?”
“Toast the bread.” He passed her a toasting fork, really just a bit of bent wire he’d made himself. He liked the feeling of being self-sufficient, which was ridiculous because he knew he wasn’t, not in the least.
She took the fork and threaded some bread on it and held it near the fire. He poured a little boiling water into the teapot, swished it around and emptied it, then added tea leaves.
She gave him a sidelong glance. “You’re very prodigal with the tea leaves.”
“Prodigue?Does that mean I’m wasteful?”
She said carefully, “You use a lot of tea for each pot. Tea is very expensive.”
He carefully poured boiling water onto the tea leaves and flashed her a quick grin. “Perhaps, but I like my tea and I like it strong. I presume you want some.” He set a pan over the fire and dropped in a lump of butter.
“Yes, please. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said anything.”
“You can say whatever you like, I don’t mind. I’m used to being criticized. The wives never stop,” he said with a wink. “That’s why I like this life. I can live how I want, answering to nobody.” He cracked four eggs into the sizzling butter and stirred them gently. “Is the toast ready?”
In answer, she held out two plates containing several pieces of toast. He scooped out a portion of the eggs onto one. “Say when.”
“That’s plenty, thank you,” she responded. He scooped the rest onto his plate and poured out the tea, adding milk and sugar to hers.
They ate in silence. Finally she put her empty plate down, picked up the mug of tea and sipped. “Oh, that’s lovely,” she said, “a perfect breakfast. And those eggs were delicious, thank you. Will you be working again at the farm today?”
“Yes, would you like to come with me?” She must have been quite bored the day before, but she hadn’t mentioned it. She wasn’t a complainer, this girl.
She brightened. “Could I? You wouldn’t mind?”
“Not at all. Now, get ready—I want to leave in ten minutes.”
She grabbed the plates and used the last of the hot water to wash them. She played fair, too, he reflected. He cooked so she cleaned up. It was probably her training as a maid.
Though she didn’t act like most of the maids he knew. She wasn’t at all subservient or meek; in fact, she treated him quite like an equal. Nor did she flirt and play the coquette toward him, which so many women did. He liked that. And she intrigued him. Most women were only too keen to share every single thought they had. She made him work to discover the most basic things.
What did he know about her, after all? She was French, an orphan with no family left. She was clean and neat in her habits—and modest, he thought, recalling her embarrassment at his noticing her washing. She’d been a maidservant, and a virtuous one at that, dismissed for resisting the approaches of her master. And she’d bought food to share and made herself useful around the camp.
She hadn’t complained once—not when he’d left her to her own devices for a whole day, nor at the discomforts of the life he was leading: fetching water from the stream, washing there, cooking simple food over an open fire. It made her a rarity among his female acquaintances.
And yet despite the little he knew of her—or perhaps because of it—he was far too attracted to her for his own peace of mind.
“I’d better introduce you as my cousin,” he said as they set off for the farm.
She gave him a sideways glance. “Why?”
“Gaudet and his wife would be shocked at the idea of us traveling together and not being married. You and I know there is not the slightest impropriety in our arrangement, but country folk are not known for their broad-mindedness.”
She gave him a long, thoughtful look, then nodded.
“Tell me about these three wives of yours,” she said as they walked. “You said, I think, that they all lived in separate houses.”
He laughed. “Lord yes. There would likely be bloodshed if they were all under the one roof. So, you want to know what they’re like?”
He glanced at her, as if considering whether to answer her, then shrugged. “The first one is the oldest, naturally. How to describe her? Hmm.” He thought for a minute then said, “Very bossy. She considers that she rules the roost—that goes for all of us, the other two wives and me. She tries to keep me at home and under her thumb.”
“She’s obviously succeeded there,” she said dryly.
He laughed. “Yes, it’s a constant battle, but she never gives up.”
“You like her, though?”
