Page 35 of Earl of Excess
“It’s ready,mon petit.” Her grandmother walked in with the soup bowls. “The soup is in a tureen. I will return with that in a moment.”
Before Bethany could utter a word, her Grandmère returned to the kitchen for the soup. She was returning at the same time Matthew opened the door, carrying a couple of logs.
“Can I help you, Matthew?” she said.
“No. I think I have this. I can feel the direction of the heat,” he returned, tapping toward the fireplace. Once he placed the logs, he returned to where Bethany stood next to the table.
Leaning in for her to hear, he whispered. “I must make myself learn to get around. I can do this. I am still capable—but I must make myself do things I found easier before. I cannot be a burden to those around me.” He kissed her lightly on the cheek and moved to the seat next to hers.
Grandmère walked into the room with the soup and placed it in the middle of the table.
Bethany watched Matthew take his cane and follow the chairs around the table. At Grandmère’s chair, he pulled it out, waiting for her to sit. He repeated the same for her and, skipping the chair next to her, he helped her aunt into her chair. Her heart tugged as she watched the gentleman she had rescued from a broken battlefield settle into his chair.
Chapter Seventeen
Matthew’s conversation withAunt Theodosia had been uplifting for him. He admired the woman whose sight had been gone most of her life. She was happy and content here, helping people.
He recalled his feelings when he had dove into the water after Bethany. It was a little heady. Matthew felt alive and able to contribute for the first time in weeks. Her voice had led him to her. He saved her. He had not allowed himself to think about it before, but as he reflected, he realized he was capable. Nevertheless, it could be some time before he felt ready to leave. Aunt Theodosia had offered to teach him the things she had learned which might help him, if he could spare a few weeks to stay here and learn.
He had not immediately responded, but as he thought about it, it seemed right. He felt better about things.
“Bethany,” he spoke up. “Your aunt has invited me to stay here for a little while. She wishes to help me learn more ways to overcome my... loss of sight.” It was still difficult to say. He reached for her hand next to him. “I would like to take her up on that.”
“She will be delighted,” Bethany returned, her voice animated.
The time together would give him more time to examine his feelings. He had grown attached to Bethany, but was it gratitude or something more? He would not break her heart—not on purpose. However, he could not deny the attraction that he felt toward her.
“What a marvelous idea!” Grandmère added, scooping soup into their bowls. “I hope you don’t mind my serving the soup. Much of the crab has settled to the bottom of the tureen and I want everyone to enjoy it. So, I ladle from the bottom as I fill the bowls.”
Matthew nodded, smiling. For the first time since the battle, he felt positive about his future. “I think I would make a mess of that,” he snickered, causing the rest of the table to laugh as well.
“Perhaps we can take the boat out later in the week and check the crab traps,” Bethany offered cheerfully. “It makes a delightful meal. I had hoped we could have a crab boil on one of the warmer days. Matthew would enjoy that.”
“Are those the cages with the rope? And what is a crab boil?” Matthew recalled the rope that he had cut in the main channel.
She laughed. “Yes. The same. They should not be hanging in the center of the channel. And most people have a floater on the water, signaling where they are. Perhaps my foot got caught on one that had been abandoned,” Bethany replied, a tremor to her voice.
“It will be awhile before I forget about that moment, too,” he said. “I am happy that we are here... now.”
She cleared her throat and continued. “A crab boil is an enormous pot full of crabs boiling with spices. The meat is delicious.”
“I am intrigued about the crab boil,” he responded.
Aunt Theodosia offered a quick blessing. He wished he could see how she ate soup without making a mess of herself. No matter. He would take his time. Certainly, he knew where to find his lips. He grinned at the thought.
Leaning over the heated bowl of soup, he took his spoon and began. With each mouthful of soup, he felt the urge to smile, but resisted, determined not to make a total fool of himself.
“I was curious,” he said, looking up at no one in particular. “This seems to be an old plantation. What is the history of it?”
“Ah. You are very observant,” Aunt Theodosia replied with a smile in her voice. “The Bellovere family, a powerful family, once lived here. The source of their money was trading—some believed it had origins in slave trading, although they did not continue the horrid practice. It is rumored they originated from France.”
“I believe I have heard the name. Perhaps it is through my association with the earlier Napoleonic wars,” Matthew replied.
“They also traded goods. When I was a young girl, there were rumors associating the family with pirates, although that was largely speculation. No one ever proved anything. It was the fever that depleted the family, however. They had a series of unfortunate illnesses that wiped out much of the family until only a few survived. The mistress of the household was very charitable and left the plantation to people that had no other place—those stricken with leprosy. She had been a friend of mine growing up, and that is how I ended up with this house. It had been a small house that was used for the widows of the masters over the years when their children married.”
“Ah... a dowager cottage,” he said.
“Yes. My friend lived here before she died. I took care of her. As you know, my sister and I are fortunate to know herbal medicine, a knowledge passed down through our family,” she said on a note of sadness. “Bethany has learned much of it. Her mother was excellent.”
