Page 24 of The Best-Kept Secrets
“Duke did say his aunt and uncle are good people,” Nia said.
“I cannot imagine Artemis would allow even the gentleman and lady of the estate to cause her Huntresses grief.” Eve slid the now-cooked farls off the hot griddle and onto a serving platter. “And should it be necessary, she has taught all of us to fight battles.”
“There’s to be a war at Fairfield?” Nia laughed a little.
“Mrs. Seymour will be handed over to her son and daughter-in-law before reaching Fairfield. That should prevent war from breaking out.” Eve set the serving platter on the worktable. She took up the pleasing but practical soup tureen she’d found among the serving dishes and carried it to the large fireplace. “We’ll fill a separate bowl for Mrs. Seymour and one for myself.”
Food had already been brought to the stables and to the former innkeeper.
“You aren’t going to eat with the rest of us?” Nia ladled while she spoke.
“If our unexpected guests are connected to theton, word of my work in the kitchen might very well make its way back to Society. That wouldn’t be good for either of us or our brothers.”
The tureen was beginning to feel a little heavy.
“It seems Society would prefer people who have fallen on difficult times starve rather than learn to survive.” Nia shook her head. “It’s unfair.”
“Yes, it is.” Heavens, the reality of that had been crushing her these past few days. “That should be enough soup.” Eve carried the tureen back to the worktable and set it down. She placed the matching ladle into the thick, autumn-hued soup, the handle settling into a notch in the lip of the tureen designed specifically for it. The lid fit tight enough to offer reassurance that the soup would stay warm and be unlikely to splash out.
She arranged the warm farls on one side of the serving platter, then placed five bowls and spoons on the other side.
In the next moment, Duke stepped into the kitchen. Her pulse tripped about as it had begun doing every time she saw him. “Anything I can help with?” he asked.
Eve pulled herself together. “If you’ll carry the soup tureen, Nia can carry the platter. I’ll prepare a tray for your grandmother.”
Nia took up the platter. “Eve’s not eating with us,” she told Duke in a tone of tattling.
Duke looked at Eve. Was that disappointment she saw in his eyes? She didn’t like seeing disappointment there. Could he not go back to laughter or amusement or pondering? But then again, if he was disappointed not to have her eat with him, that was actually a rather flattering prospect. “I did say I would have to hide in here,” she reminded him.
For just a moment, he seemed as though he meant to argue. But he didn’t. Which caused Eve a surprising amount of disappointment. She needed him to recognize and agree that she had no choice but to keep her role in the kitchen a secret. It was crucial. Yet she wanted him to want to have her nearby.
“I’ll return for Grandmother’s tray in just a moment,” Duke said, then lifted the tureen from the tabletop.
Please stay.But she couldn’t say that out loud.
She instead began preparing Mrs. Seymour’s meal: A bowl of hot soup. A perfectly triangular farl. And she scooped a baked apple from the dutch oven set among the coals and placed it in a small bowl. She arranged the needed utensils and a white linen napkin on the tray as well.
Duke returned as she finished preparing the tray. “Is that for Grandmother?”
She nodded. “I’m sending a baked apple with everything else. But the rest of the apples can be taken out into the public room once those there have finished their soup.”
He stood beside her, near enough for his captivating eyes to draw her in once more. “You are going to take time to eat, aren’t you?”
Words, Eve. Think of some words.“I will.”
He stayed beside her, not taking up the tray. “I’ll come in here and eat with you.”
Oh, that was tempting.Keep your head. “That would raise too many suspicions. I’m certain the family out there has sorted your social standing as well as Nia’s. Should either of you take your meals with the cook, they’d find it odd. Best not risk drawing scrutiny.”
He nodded. “I cannot argue with such sound reasoning.”
She wouldn’t have objected to at least a momentary return of his disappointed look. But she wasn’t certain she could have retained her grasp on logic, and she very much needed to.
“Feel free not to argue with the wisdom of helping me clean up after they’ve gone up to their room. I’ll welcome help with that.”
He almost smiled; she could tell he did. “Thank you.”
That was not what she would have predicted he would say. “What are you thanking me for?”
