“How’s the side job going?” asked Michael, peering over his dinner at her fingertips.
Nora sighed, “Could be better if I wasn’t so busy tending to all the goings-on around this bloody drafty place.”
She poked her dinner with her fork, moving the potatoes and beef around the plate. Despite the insult that the servants were only permitted to eat meat left over from the meals prepared for the Darlingtons, the food was always prepared well and there was lots of it. Another plus was that, once dinner was over, no one really went into the kitchen, so it was a place to talk freely. Picking up a pea, she flicked it carelessly over Michael’s shoulder. He ducked to avoid being hit with the green projectile.
In a swift motion, she watched Michael scoop up a handful of carrots. Nora quickly snatched up a napkin to shield herself from Michael’s retaliatory fire. She continued talking from behind the white piece of cloth, “I can’t even work back in my room because I can’t have anyone seeing I have another job. It’s ridiculous!”
“So what if they see? As long as you’re getting your main duties done around here, who cares if you do a little extra sewing on the side?” Michael queried, tossing a piece of a carrot over Nora’s napkin line of defense.
She let out a squeak of surprise as the carrot bounced off her head and onto the floor. Lowering her cloth shield so just her eyes peered over, Nora replied, “I just don’t want to chance it. I haven’t saved up enough money to get to London yet and it’d be terrible if I got fired before that. I’ve only been taking jobs that I can finish on my one afternoon off and I give them back that day. Been working these fingers to the bone!” she said, letting the napkin fall, raising her hands and wiggling her rough fingertips to illustrate.
Michael nodded in sympathy, raising his own hands to show Nora the calluses on his palms from mucking stalls at the barn. “You’re telling me!” He lowered his hands and scooped another helping of potatoes from the silver bowl onto his plate. “So, did you patch things up with Therese?”
Nora gave a half shrug, half nod, “I suppose. She said she was just nervous and didn’t know what to say.” She skeptically pouted her lips and continued on, “I mean, I
Michael nodded, chewing thoughtfully. “She was probably just scared they would try and pin it on her,” he mumbled through a mouthful of potatoes.
“Right,” Nora agreed. “And, ignoring that one hang-up, Therese has been nothing but pleasant to me. I suppose I forgive her. Plus, that girl has a nose for gossip, so she could be a good ally.”
Michael grinned. “Should you really trust a gossipy girl?”
Waving her hand dismissively, Nora said, “No! Of course n—” She stopped mid-sentence and glowered at Michael. “Very funny.”
Laughing, Michael said, “I sure thought so.”
Nora scowled, turning her head away in mock disgust. “At least I don’t have spinach stuck in my teeth.”
Michael’s grin faded as he began to pick at his front teeth.
Nora clasped her hands together in front of her and leaned forward, happy to have the upper hand. “So. Now about you. You know the baby is yours. What’re you going to do?”
Michael took a deep breath, clasped his hands behind his head, and rocked on the back two legs of his chair. Sighing, he said, “I… don’t know.” Staring at the ceiling, he continued on: “On the one hand, the baby is clearly better off being a Darlington. Even in their reduced circumstances, they could provide so much for him. I don’t think I’d be able to give him the same opportunities in life. But, on the other hand, I absolutely cannot stand to see
Nora nodded, contemplatively tapping her fork against her lips. Slowly, she said, “Do you want me to send a message to her?”
Letting the front two legs of his chair regain contact with the floor with a loud clack, Michael looked at Nora. “Would you do that for me?”
“Of course!” she replied naturally, and then thinking better of it, feigned disinterest. “Well, then again, word on the
“Do it for me,” Michael said in a gentle command, half-teasing and half-serious.
“And what if I refuse?” replied Nora, rubbing at her face with the napkin, “I’m not so keen on doing favors for food-flinging ruffians such as yourself.”
“Well,” Michael started, leaning forward, “what if I was to tell you
Nora narrowed her eyes at him. “You wouldn’t dare.”
“Oh, wouldn’t I?” Michael grinned back at her. As much as Nora viewed him as a brother, Michael viewed her as a sister. Specifically, a little sister whom he loved to ruffle up as she did to him, although deep down they knew their intentions were nothing but kind for one another. “Oh, yes. From what I hear there is a young maid who has been doing some extra sewing work on the side and not telling her Lordship about the money she has been saving to go to… where was it? Oh, yes, London…”
Jumping up from her seat, Nora raced around the table, shoving her napkin over Michael’s mouth. Even though all of the staff were in their rooms, she couldn’t help but feel a stab of panic. “Ssh! Stop it!” she hissed. “I’ll do it, I’ll do it!” She could hear Michael’s muffled chuckles coming from beneath the fabric. He reached up and gently removed her clamped hand from over his mouth, letting the napkin fall into his lap.
She plopped down in the seat next to him and stuck out her bottom lip, trying to muster up false indignation. “I was going to do it anyway. You know I care about you and Maggie.”
Michael shifted in his seat to face her and patted her hand, still chuckling. He focused his intense eyes upon her. “And I thank you for it. This means so much to me, thank you.”
Nora looked deeply into his eyes, as if studying his level of sincerity. She took a deep breath and let it out slowly, patting his hand back. “You know you are a supreme git, don’t you?” Her face broke into a grin.
“Oh, just write the sodding letter for me, would you?” He retorted, snatching up the napkin and tossing it at her.
“All right, all right, down to business,” she replied, laughing. Striding across the kitchen to where the cookbooks were kept, she ripped a blank page out of a notebook and grabbed a pen. Returning, she pounded the piece of paper down upon the table for dramatic effect and stared pointedly at Michael. “Spill your heart out and I’ll deliver this letter to your fair maiden, words transcribed ’pon this parchment, tucked safely inside a book, and delivered for only your miss to see.”
“You really have a sense for theatrics, don’t you?”
Nora adjusted the pen in her hand, ready to write. “All the world’s a stage, as they say. Now spill it.”
Chapter Nineteen
Wesley found himself running down the long drive leading into Wentworth Hall. He hadn’t meant to break into a run, but it was as though his legs had a will of their own. The object of his chase was Therese, who was only a few yards ahead of him. He’d spied her leaving the estate and gone out after her, filled with an overwhelming desire to accompany the young woman whom he found exquisite in every way, from her delicate beauty to the melodious, French-accented voice that flowed from her bowed lips. He had to be near her.
She had seemed so curious about him when they had first set eyes on each other. But he couldn’t mistake her coldness when he visited her in the nursery. She must have assumed he was toying with her, that he was a typical highborn Lord looking to tumble a member of his staff. He would have to convince her otherwise. His time in America had led him to have a much more progressive view of the social classes. What did a title really mean, anyway?
“
“Good day to you, Therese,” Wesley answered brightly. “Where are you off to on this dreary day?” he asked, pointing up to the thunderclouds rolling ominously overhead.
