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Oh, this is hopeless. I’m terrible with people. It’s too bad Henry can’t do this job for me too. He’d have her relaxed and laughing in no time, just like he does with the customers at the club.

Astrid took a bite of her pie. “This is quite good, My Lord,” she said. Then her eyes widened. “I mean, Conor.”

He pretended not to notice the slip. “It is, isn’t it?” he said. “Our cook here at Middleborough Manor makes some of the finest food I’ve ever tasted. I was lucky to inherit most of my staff from my father. I’m not very skilled at hiring people.”

“You made a good hire in Betsy,” Astrid said.

“The lady’s maid?” He had met with a dozen candidates before selecting her. With her exuberant personality and youthful energy, Conor had imagined she would be a good match for what he already knew of Astrid. She would need someone to talk to here at the manor, and Conor knew he wasn’t very good at that sort of thing.

Astrid nodded. “I like her a lot,” she said. “Not that I’m exactly comfortable with having a lady’s maid. And I don’t really know what I’m supposed to do with her. But she’s a good person to have around.”

“I’m glad you approve of my choice,” Conor said.

“Is there a reason you chose?” Astrid asked. “What I mean is…is there a reason you made the choice and not me? Is that what’s normal?”

Conor blinked. “It never occurred to me that you would want to.”

“No?”

“Did you want to?”

“I don’t know,” Astrid admitted. “It never would have occurred to me either. I just wondered if maybe you thought I couldn’t handle it, because I’d never had a maid before.”

“No,” Conor said. “I didn’t think that. I suppose I just wanted to have someone in place, ready for you when you arrived. If you didn’t like her—”

“I do like her,” Astrid said quickly.

“I’m glad. But if you didn’t, we could always make a change, send her away and find someone else.”

Astrid nodded slowly, considering his words, and returned to her pie.

A long silence stretched between them, and Conor waited to see if she would speak again, but she didn’t. The quiet seemed to grow until it was almost a noise of its own, ringing in his ears, filling the room.

It’s got to be me. It’s my turn to say something.

He fumbled for a topic. “How are you liking your chambers?” he asked finally. That was innocuous enough.

But Astrid looked up sharply, as if he had said something telling in some way. “They’re fine,” she said warily.

“Everything there is comfortable for you?”

“Yes.”

He frowned. “You seem like there’s something you’re not saying. Is it the bed? Is it not comfortable?”

“No, the bed is fine.”

“Then what? The view?”

“It’s a view of the grounds.”

“Did you want something different?”

“Do you have any rooms thatdon’tlook out on the grounds?” she asked.

That was a fair point. “The furniture, then? Or do you need more closet space?”

Astrid laughed. It wasn’t a big laugh—it was small and a little forced, and he could still hear her discomfort. But she was laughing. That had to be a good sign, right?