Chapter Seventeen
WHAT EXACTLY DOES ONE DO for a house party?Erik rolled out of his bed and flipped the latch to the window of the master bedroom, seeking the fresh night air to clear his mind after a long first dinner with his guests. Being shut indoors had never suited him, not when he had spent most of his life with his boots on the deck of the Twilight Treader. He hadn’t been in this room since he was a small boy, and he wondered if this room would ever truly feel like his own. The rich mahogany paneling did bring him comfort, as it reminded him of being aboard ship. That was where the familiarity ceased. The four-poster bed and its heavy burgundy curtains were too luxurious to coax him into a deep sleep, and after hours of tossing and turning, he was beginning to consider bringing a hammock into his room. He rested his palm on the cool, wavy glass of the window, looking out onto the lake below, the moonlight reflecting in its still surface.
As a child, he had been frightened to swim in the lake, recalling stories of knights placing water beasts in the depths to protect castles in times of siege. It took several reassurances from his uncle before he gathered the courage to row to the other side and, eventually, swim in its murky waters. It wasn’t as pleasant as the creek. However, it made for a quick way of cooling off after a long ride in the summer. Perhaps boating today will keep my guests occupied? Surely the ladies in the party will have no objection.
After years without hosting a house party, the castle felt near to bursting, even though not even a quarter of the rooms were in use. The staff were exhausted and so was he, yet the work had only just begun. He had next to nothing planned for the house party, so a day of boating was about as good as he could come up with at this hour.
He was tired—exhausted from years of the chase, years of fighting for king and country. As was his habit when he was unable to sleep, he reached for his father’s worn Bible and flipped it open to the ribbon-marked page—the last chapter his father had read before he died, Psalm 103.
Bless the LORD, O my soul, and forget not all his benefits:
Who forgiveth all thine iniquities; who healeth all thy diseases;
Who redeemeth thy life from destruction; who crowneth thee with lovingkindness and tender mercies;
Who satisfieth thy mouth with good things; so that thy youth is renewed like the eagle’s.
He bowed his head. Lord, I am at my wit’s end. I have tried again and again to capture Requin, resulting in so much destruction in the name of the Crown. And now that I have inherited the responsibilities of Draybridge village, would You have me surrender my first call, after everything I’ve sacrificed in my pursuit of Requin, and allow Adams to take on the mantle? Please, reveal to me Your will.
The clock on the mantel above his now-dwindling fire chimed thrice. He sighed. Sleep was not within reach tonight. He tugged his linen shirt over his shoulders and didn’t bother tucking it into his pantaloons as he shuffled down to the kitchen to rummage. His mind was always sharper with a loaf of bread in hand, and hopefully, with his belly full, sleep would at last claim him.
His bare feet padded on the stones as he traveled down the familiar steps to the kitchen, when he heard a memorable croaking tune as pots and pans rattled and a kettle hissed atop the stove. He rounded the corner to find the door open to the massive kitchen and Muriel with her hands deep in a mixing bowl, her hair arranged in a loose braid that cascaded past her waist. She was singing a jaunty sea shanty, her feet tapping as her thumping of the flour added to the beat.
He stomped his feet in time and joined the familiar song. She whirled around, her hands covered in flour, her cheeks tinting at being caught singing such a tune.
He finished the line, grinning. “Of course you would find my kitchen.”
She brushed a lock from her face, leaving a trace of pasty flour on her blooming cheek. “I found it my first night here, and asked the cook’s permission to create some confections and baked goods for tomorrow. She said as long as I kept out of her way, I could. Your kitchen is impeccable by the way.” She bit her lip as if becoming aware of the flour coating the countertops. “Or was before I began baking. I figured I would clean it before the cook awoke and discovered my messy nature.” She returned to working the dough. “I hope you don’t mind my liberty in helping myself to these ingredients.”
“On the contrary, I was hoping not to be forced to rummage for my food. You are an answer to prayer.” In more ways than one. He moved over to where she was busy kneading the dough. “And thank you for your praise regarding my kitchen. It is none of my doing, as it has been updated every decade or so by whichever lord was in residence. I have yet to add any improvements to the estate.” He nodded to her working the dough. “You make it look easy, though I know from my one attempt at baking aboard ship that it is far from easy.”
“I could teach you.” She grinned at him, the teasing lilt in her voice daring him.
Why not?He rolled up his sleeves, appreciating her covert glance to his corded forearms as he unwrapped his wrist, dropping the linens in the waste bin before scrubbing his hands, the action only causing a mild twinge in his wrist. “Where do I begin?”
She blinked up at him. “You are serious?”
“Always, Miss Beau.”
She cleared her throat and gestured to the mound of dough atop the counter. “Shall we begin with some light kneading? I am making those scones you enjoyed so much.”
He sank his fists into the dough, the texture surprising as it moved through his knuckles. He flopped over the dough and pounded it with his good fist as he had seen Cook do in his childhood.
“You mustn’t overwork the dough,” she instructed, moving closer to him. “Instead of pounding, try folding it like this.” She reached around him and grasped his hands in hers and moved his hands as her own, demonstrating how to fold without even looking around his shoulder, as if the movement was so ingrained in her, she could have performed it blindfolded.
When she moved away, he purposefully botched folding the dough and thumped it with his fists for good measure.
“We will have to throw it out, Erik, if you aren’t more careful,” she scolded with a laugh and moved to take over the dough, inadvertently stepping between his arms.
He dared to lean closer to enjoy her heavenly scent of vanilla and sweetness as she demonstrated the proper technique. “Ahh, I see how it is done now. Do you trust me to attempt it once more?”
“I think that is enough folding,” she replied, oblivious to his dazed state as she handed him a small drinking glass. “Dip the rim in flour and use it to cut the scones into circles and then gently fold the remaining dough again to one inch high, as I showed you, cutting and reshaping the dough until there is none left.” She whirled away from him and set to chopping fruit with a precise and experienced hand.
He set to his task and was doing a poor job, he suspected, but she did not say another word. Is she offended I’ve taken the liberty of being with her unattended? He glanced over his shoulder to the petite Miss Beau, who had her back to him, intent on her dicing. He left his station to watch her, admiring her skill. She glanced up from her work and jumped at his proximity, her knife slipping and slicing her finger.
“Muriel! I’m so sorry.” He snatched up a rag and wrapped it around her injured finger, applying pressure to staunch the bleeding, calling himself all kinds of fool for inadvertently scaring her while she wielded a knife.
She wobbled, her skin paling. “Oh no.”
“Muriel?” Surely, she isn’t going to faint?
“Ever since I was a girl, the sight of blood made me weak,” she murmured, her head lolling.
He wrapped his arms about her and held her close as he lowered her to the stones, keeping her back against his chest. “Deep breaths, Muriel.” He shifted her slightly to one side and lifted her chin, directing her gaze. “Don’t look at the blood. Focus on me and take deep breaths.”
Focus on him?She hardly dared, but even knowing the blood was there was too much. Since she refused to faint … She slowly lifted her lashes and met his gaze, sinking, falling ever so much more for this gentleman—a nobleman who would never be hers. She closed her eyes against him, but that did not distract her from the raw power of his arms. “So what brought you down to the kitchen, Lord Draycott?”
“You mean besides my hunger, Miss Beau? Your enchanting sea shanty.”
She heard his teasing smile even as her eyes were still closed. “It is hardly ever only hunger that makes a body traipse through the corridors at night against the chill and haunting shadows. For me, I never feel more like myself than when I am elbow deep in flour, and I needed to find my peace once more after refusing Lord Traneford’s suit.”
She felt him stiffen. As the blood was likely still flowing, she kept her eyes firmly shut.
“You did? Why?”
“We were better suited as friends. Now, no more avoiding my question.” She dared to open one eye and found him staring so intently at her that she jerked back, but, as she was wrapped in his arms, she managed to smash his lip with her head.
He grunted.
“Oh, Erik!” She reached into her apron pocket and withdrew a surprisingly clean rag. Twisting around in his arms, she dabbed at his lip. “Look at the pair of us on the kitchen pavers—each injured.”
He chuckled. “I should wear a suit of armor every time I am near you, Miss Beau, if only for my own protection.”
“You didn’t answer my question.”
He sighed and checked her finger, then reapplied pressure at once. It wasn’t done bleeding yet. “If you must know, the party has my stomach in more knots than the first time I boarded an enemy vessel as captain.”
“How is boarding a vessel less terrifying than a house party?” She shook her head at his exaggeration and allowed herself to settle against him once more. “I would imagine it takes a raw courage that most do not possess.”
He paused as if weighing his words. “Courage is needed, indeed, and skill. But those are not always enough. On my vessel, there is rarely ever a need to use our weapons. It is more about a show of weapons to convince the enemy to surrender.”
“Well, I am pleased by that.” Her brows furrowed. “I’ve never heard of another naval captain whose story matches your own.”
“I’m one of the fortunate ones.” He chuckled. “Well, until I decided to host a house party.”
She giggled. “Are you having regrets already about protecting me here?”
His mirth faded at once, his dark eyes burning into her. “Never.”
She dared a peek at her finger and groaned. “Tell me something quickly. What house party did you attend that made you dislike them so much?”
“I’ve never actually attended one myself as I’ve been at sea for so long … I hardly know what is expected of me as the host.”
She turned her head to look up at him, taking comfort in the steady rise and fall of his broad chest against her back. “How long did you say you have been captain?”
“Five years.”
“That’s right.” She nodded, squinting at the ceiling.
“You are calculating my age?”
“Well, yes. I’ve been wondering, as your tales lead one to think you are much older, but your form doesn’t bespeak of an older gentleman.”
At his grin, she at once realized her forwardness. Will I never keep my mouth shut?
He chuckled. “I am eight and twenty.”
“Eight and twenty? And you have never attended a house party?” She scooted away from him, though remained seated to avoid bashing her head should she faint. “Well, Providence is smiling upon you, because I have spent the past seven summers at Tess Hale’s family estate and know how to guide you.”
His eyes brightened. “Truly?”
“Truly.” She held out her finger to him and closed her eyes. “Is it still bleeding?”
He pulled the rag back before removing it completely. “It’s finished. I’d best wrap it so it doesn’t open again while you work.” He reached for his shirt and tore off the hem. Her eyes widened at the flash of his muscled, contoured abdomen. She at once dropped her gaze as he wrapped her finger ever so gently.
“I’m certain the cook keeps cloths for cuts in here somewhere. You needn’t have ripped your shirt for me.”
“It’s only a shirt. Your finger is infinitely more valuable to me.” He lifted her now-wrapped finger. “There. You would make a fine sailor, Miss Beau, with your stomach of steel.”
“Very droll, Captain Draycott. Now, let’s begin making a list of ideas for entertaining your guests, and you can tell me what suits your fancy.” She allowed him to assist her to standing, then withdrew her hand. Finding scraps of paper atop the cook’s desk in the corner, she removed a sheet, along with the inkwell and quill, to the counter. “From what I’ve seen of your grounds, I’d say an exploration is a must, as well as riding, of course. I noticed you have an excellent library. Perhaps readings after the evening meal for the elder ones in our set while one of the more accomplished ladies can play the pianoforte for dancing? Tess is quite proficient.” She lifted her hand, palm out. “But, before you ask it of me, I do not play nor read aloud, I’m afraid.” She ran the feather quill under her nose, thinking.
He nodded. “Perhaps you can sing?”
She snagged a roll and hurled it at him, which he caught and sank his teeth into with a chuckle. “No one hears my voice, good sir.”
“Except me—twice. And I find that it grows on a person, much like barnacles on a hull.”
She rolled her eyes and returned to the list. “Any suggestions of your own?”
“Boating on the lake? There are some fine rowboats available and even some fishing poles, as it is kept well stocked, or we might even host it at the river for a change of scenery. There is excellent fishing to be had there as well.”
“Perfect! And what if we hold a competition for the most fish caught?”
“Yes! And for an added layer of fun, the winner should be given a prize.”
She jotted it down, and she knew he was observing her writing. Her cheeks heated, hoping he had not noticed that her penmanship was not as refined as that of most young ladies. Who am I trying to fool? It’s hardly legible. She rested her hand over it, knowing she was smudging the ink, but having him study her writing was unbearable. “And if it rains, what other indoor activity would you suggest?”
“You teach everyone how to bake something.”
She stared at him. “I hardly think the nobility will deem it entertainment to soil their hands. Can you imagine Elena willingly participating?”
“They will if we place the best product as the centerpiece for the evening meal, honoring the amateur baker.”
Her heart warmed at his kindness. It would be wonderful to be seen as something other than the uncultured country girl. And she knew her friends would adore seeing her thrive in her element, especially in front of the gentleman who had stolen her heart. “Very well. I shall add that to the list too.”
It was nearing five of the clock by the time Muriel crept back into her chambers with a light heart and full spirit. Erik had sought out her advice. He had even suggested an activity she excelled at as she had nothing to offer for the musical night.
She flopped on her bed and gazed at the canopy above and sighed. This fortune hunter business may have been the best thing to ever happen to her.