Chapter 5 #2
Sebastian smiled faintly as he approached the table. A few damp tendrils of hair clung to her forehead, and though her expression was composed, there were shadows beneath her eyes that spoke of fatigue. Her belly gave a small, unmistakable rumble. She flushed and looked away.
“Please,” he said, gesturing to the chair across from his. “Join me.”
Her eyes widened. “Oh no, I could not. I daresay housekeepers do not dine with their lords.”
He inclined his head. “There is no need for formality between us, Miss Winton. I see no sense in eating alone when a meal has been so thoughtfully prepared. Sit. Eat.”
She hesitated, then gave a small nod and lowered herself into the seat. He took his place at the head of the table.
“Where is Sarah?” he asked, reaching for the ladle.
Miss Winton offered a faint smile. “She had a few slices of bread and warm milk. She was exhausted and went to sleep not long ago.”
He stilled. When they had arrived, he’d immediately gone to inspect the deliveries that had arrived in his absence—materials for the manor restoration, left out in the stables. He had not seen them since. Bloody hell. That was thoughtless of him.
“Where is she sleeping?” he asked, frowning.
“In my room,” she said lightly, “below stairs.”
His hand froze around the handle of the spoon. “Below stairs?”
She blinked at the change in his tone. “Yes, my lord. I assumed that was expected.”
His chest tightened, an ache blooming there he hadn’t anticipated. “I did not intend for you to lodge in the servants’ quarters,” he said. “Forgive me. The error was mine. I did not help you settle but left to tend to my matters with no thought at all for your comfort or Sarah’s.”
Miss Winton gave him a startled look, confusion flickering in her eyes. “Then… where are we to sleep, my lord?”
“In the guest chambers, upstairs,” he replied.
Her lips parted in surprise, but no words followed. For a moment, she merely stared at him, blinking as though uncertain whether he jested. Her features softened, and she said, “Thank you, my lord.”
It was that glimpse of pride in her eyes, fierce and unbending, that had compelled him to offer her employment rather than mere shelter.
There had been something in her bearing—in the quiet way she stood, chin lifted against the disapproval of the world—that told him she would accept help only if it came with dignity. No charity. No pity.
Sebastian ladled another generous portion of stew onto his plate and brought the first spoonful to his mouth.
He cleared his throat, a motion that masked the involuntary jolt of his body as his taste buds recoiled.
Dear God. The stew was an assault. Salt burned the back of his throat, the beef might well have been boiled leather, and there was such a prodigious amount of onion that his eyes threatened to water.
A strange bitterness lingered on his tongue, and he had not the faintest notion what might have caused it.
Still, years of card tables, bluffing hardened gamblers, and smiling while losing five thousand pounds in a single round had honed his composure to perfection.
He set his spoon down, lifted his gaze, and found Miss Winton watching him with the anxious stillness of a gambler awaiting the turn of a final card.
Her breath seemed caught, her eyes wide with nervous hope.
“How is it, my lord?” she asked softly.
He gave her what he hoped was a warm smile. “Delightful.”
She flushed, pleasure lighting her tired features, and quickly looked away as if needing to hide her expression.
Sebastian reached for a slice of the bread next—drizzled with honey and softened with a generous pat of butter.
He took a bite and nearly groaned in gratitude when it melted on his tongue.
The bread was warm and sweet, an unexpected mercy.
If the stew was a battlefield, the bread was its saving grace.
He lifted his glass and took a long swallow of water to clear his throat.
Sebastian watched, mildly arrested, as Miss Winton ladled a portion of stew onto her plate with far more confidence than the dish deserved.
A warning hovered on his tongue—perhaps he ought to intervene.
Yet a niggling doubt restrained him. What if this was precisely the sort of fare she was accustomed to?
What if this coarse concoction, with its aggressive saltiness and unidentifiable bitterness, were a familiar taste?
She took a generous mouthful. Chewed. Froze.
Her eyes widened with unmistakable alarm.
She looked to him, then to his plate, then back again.
Sebastian bit the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing, but failed miserably.
A low chuckle escaped him as she valiantly swallowed, then hastily reached for her water and took several sips, her eyes watering slightly.
“That was awful,” she burst out, then grinned sheepishly. “Truly awful.”
“It was,” he agreed, “but I confess I wasn’t certain whether that was simply the standard you enjoyed.”
She laughed, and for a moment, he could only stare.
Her face was illuminated in a manner he had never seen before, her cheeks dimpled, her eyes bright with unguarded joy.
Even his mother, with all her exacting standards, would be forced to admit that Miss Winton looked positively radiant just then.
He found himself wondering if she had much occasion to laugh.
It did not seem the sort of thing she did often.
And then came the most outrageous thought—he rather wished to be the one to make her laugh. Often.
“I am terribly sorry, my lord,” she said with a bright, self-deprecating smile.
“I ought to have confessed. I am no cook. I can manage a household, order supplies, and see to the servants well enough, but I fear I am quite hopeless in other respects. And I daresay your lordship needs a proper staff.”
Sebastian leaned back in his chair, picking up another slice of bread. “The house is still under renovation. It shall be a few months before it is fit for proper residence.”
Her brows lifted. “And you oversee the restorations personally?”
He nodded. “Most of it, yes. However, I employ craftsmen from the village—masons, carpenters, the like. I find satisfaction in returning a structure to its former glory.”
Miss Winton tilted her head thoughtfully. “Then perhaps it might be prudent to hire staff who needn’t live in. Local women who could cook and clean during the day and return home at dusk. That way, your renovations remain undisturbed.”
He considered that. “A fair suggestion. I’ll leave it in your capable hands. I was swimming in dust earlier, so anything would be an improvement. Still, I suppose we’ll need a few to live in as well. Most of the remaining work is confined to the conservatory and the third floor.”
She gave a small, pleased nod. “Very well. I shall make inquiries tomorrow.”
Their eyes met across the table, and a quiet smile passed between them, uncomplicated and warm.
They each reached for another slice of bread, eating companionably in silence.
When they were finished, she rose, collecting their plates with efficient grace, and turned toward the narrow servants’ staircase.
Sebastian watched her go, noting the gentle sway of her steps and the soft melody she hummed under her breath.
Their exchange had been pleasant, unmarred by the usual tangle of attraction and restraint.
And just perhaps… just perhaps, it would not be so very difficult to live with Miss Winton under the same roof after all.