‘Four pounds of pastries. What does the master think I will do with four pounds of them?’ His German accent stood out in his ire. He turned back to continue unceremoniously banging pots and utensils as he worked.
Serena blanched. It was her fault for admitting how much she liked them. ‘It was very spontaneous. I did not expect him to buy every one of them.’
Becker waved a hand in dismissal. ‘Never mind. It’s not your fault.’
‘I’ll have one now if that will make it easier. I came looking for dinner.’ Serena gave him a hopeful look.
The cook grunted. ‘I kept food for you. I expected you’d be down here sometime. Lucky, it’s still warm.’ He moved to the stove and returned with a covered plate. ‘Roasted fowl, green beans, potatoes and pumpkin. I trust it is to your liking.’
‘Your cooking has not failed me yet.’ Serena tried to sweeten his mood. She lifted the cover and drank in the savoury aromas.
‘Humph. Well, you go and eat. I shall bring one of those blasted pastries shortly.’
She took her plate to the dining room and sat in the quietness to enjoy her meal. As promised, Becker soon entered with another plate, a glass and a carafe of water. He placed them on the table without ceremony. But he didn’t leave.
‘Thank you, Becker. I appreciate you looking after me.’
He grunted again. ‘Doesn’t Edward know, I could have baked those pastries, and better? He only had to ask.’
So, it was jealousy that had roused his ire. Serena raised her brows at Becker. ‘Better, you say?’
‘Ya. Much better.’
‘You have yourself a challenge then, Becker, because I have never tasted the likes of them.’
The cook stared at her briefly then offered a short bow. ‘Challenge accepted, Miss Bellingham.’
Serena still smothered giggles minutes later when Mrs Jones entered.
The housekeeper—or was she playing sister to the master today—stood inside the doorway, fidgeting as if she didn’t know what to say. Serena nodded to her, equally uncomfortable. What did one say to excuse oneself in this situation? And where to start?
‘Are you rested?’ An abrupt beginning from Mrs Jones. No greeting first. The woman paced the floor.
‘I suppose. I have a touch of headache, but otherwise, I am well.’
With a rush of movement Mrs Jones pulled out the chair beside her and sat. ‘Are you all right? My brother didn’t ... wasn’t ... inappropriate, was he?’
‘No.’ Serena shook her head. ‘Unless you count running barefoot along the beach inappropriate.’
Mrs Jones dropped her head into her hands. ‘He didn’t!’
‘Yes, quite.’ Serena tried to cover a smile by putting a forkful of chicken in her mouth. Mrs Jones was serious. ‘But that’s nothing I haven’t done before, so it didn’t bother me. I am aware that Mr King can be impulsive.’
‘Did anyone see him?’
Serena furrowed her brows as she thought back. ‘No, I don’t think so.’
Mrs Jones’ stiff frame relaxed a little at that.
‘Didn’t you tell him to bring you home?’
Serena lifted her shoulders. ‘Once or twice. But he was so excited to be showing me the architecture in Sydney, I didn’t have the heart to complain.’
Mrs Jones put out a hand and covered hers. ‘I’m so sorry, Serena. It was poor judgement on his behalf to drag you around all night.’
Sorry? Why should Mrs Jones apologise for her brother? It wasn’t her fault. Mr King made his own decisions, even if it seems he put little thought into them. Besides, wasn’t it her own fault for agreeing to go, knowing they were without an escort? ‘There is nothing to forgive, Mrs Jones. I enjoyed his company most of the time.’
The housekeeper stiffened in the chair and her eyes sparked with dismay. ‘Most of the time? What did he do?’
Serena removed her hand from beneath Mrs Jones’s and patted it. ‘Nothing so alarming. Mr King will not relent over…over a disagreement we had, that is all.’
Mrs Jones breathed out long and hard as though a huge relief fell from her shoulders. ‘So, you enjoyed your tour with him except for his arrogance from time to time, is that right?’
‘Yes, exactly.’
Her smile brightened. ‘Well, I’m glad. But it shouldn’t happen again—not without a chaperone.’ She let out a laugh that sounded forced and rose from the table, her chair scraping against the wooden floor. ‘Eddie has given you the day off, so I will leave you to your freedom.’
‘Thank you, Mrs Jones.’
Serena watched her leave, still pondering their conversation. Mrs Jones was more anxious over her brother’s behaviour than Serena’s own. That was a change about, since she’d met with much suspicion over her motives since arriving at Aleron. But she was too tired to make sense of it.
Fresh air is what she needed. Once she finished her late dinner, she collected a wrap and headed outdoors into the gardens. She strolled across the manicured lawns and roamed amongst the garden beds. Strange. Just as she often felt someone watching her while she laundered, she sensed it again now in the garden. She shivered while looking around her. There was nowhere to hide, and she stood quite out in the open. But nothing disturbed the serenity aside from the chirping of birds. Did her imagination play tricks on her yet again?
Serena forced her thoughts back to the trouble at hand. What would she say to Mr King next time she saw him? She had not mentioned it to Mrs Jones, but she had been the inappropriate one—resting on Mr King’s shoulder, indeed. And didn’t they share a moment in front of Papa’s house? Or was that just a dream? Whatever the case, she must learn to control her runaway feelings for Mr King. There was something about him that constantly drew her, even though he wouldn’t forget the almost-stolen-painting issue. He was smart—well, more than smart—gifted, vibrant and full of passion, and yes, charm as he’d told her. And all
