Page 4

CHAPTER FOUR

Matthew breathed in deeply, enjoying the scents of the small garden behind the vicarage. Here on the outskirts of London, the air was fresher and the sky clearer. He watched birds flitting around in the shrubs as he waited for Miss Stanley to rejoin him.

With a shockingly strong arm around his middle, she’d helped him downstairs and out to a bench beneath the willow tree, settling him there before returning inside. He heard the door and turned his head to see her making her way down the steps, a tray in her hands.

“The weather is so fine that I thought we should have our midday meal out here before we read.” She set the tray down on a small table and moved the table closer to the bench.

Miss Stanley seated herself beside him, not meeting his gaze as she handed him a glass of lemonade; her cheeks were flushed. He wondered if it made her nervous to sit so close beside him, despite the intimacy of caring for his most personal needs in recent days.

He turned his attention to his plate. There was cold chicken left over from last evening, some of her delicious the bread, and a crisp, fresh salad.

Matthew glanced at her sidelong. Her expression had eased and her shoulders were relaxed. Might he chance a compliment?

“As usual, everything is delicious.”

This time, she blushed as she smiled shyly. “Thank you, Lord Hadleigh. I try to make the best of what we have.”

“You do a fine job. Are the vegetables from a local market?”

She shook her head. “I grew these in the garden.” She pointed to one corner, then the other. “That corner is for spring and autumn vegetables, and that one for summer and winter. I get better yields when I rotate what I grow and let the ground rest between plantings.”

He stared at her, marveling at her cleverness. He’d never considered things like crop rotation on his family’s estate, reasoning that was his father’s domain, along with their estate manager. After his father passed, Matthew left it to the estate manager to oversee everything.

“It sounds like a big job.”

She smiled. “I don’t mind it. I like being outdoors whenever I can, and I love the smell of the soil when I turn it over, finding it rich for growing. There’s something very satisfying about planting my own food, seeing seeds sprout to life and grow into healthy plants.”

Matthew noted the smooth, creamy butter on his bread. “Do you make the butter yourself as well?”

Miss Stanley nodded. “It’s not difficult. We often receive fresh milk from parishioners, either in exchange for my father’s services or as a gift. All it takes is persistence and time.”

“How do you make it?”

She tilted her head in thought. “Well, first I leave the milk out overnight so the cream will rise to the top. I scrape the cream into a jug and pour it into my churn. Pouring it from a greater height makes the cream aerate, which causes it to churn faster —” She stopped and looked at him sheepishly.

“You probably didn’t want to know the process in quite so much detail. ”

“I do, actually.”

Miss Stanley rewarded him with a smile that stole his breath away, and he had to return his gaze to his plate for a minute.

Matthew marveled as she described churning, watching the cream thicken, draining the buttermilk, washing the butter, squeezing it with paddles, adding flavorings, and shaping it.

“I would never have imagined how many steps it takes for butter to appear on the table. That sounds like quite a bit of work.”

“It was challenging when I first started making it, since turning the handle of the churn as the cream thickened took more strength than I had. But I grew, becoming stronger and more capable. Now churning gives me time to think without guilt over being unproductive.”

Matthew wanted to squirm. His life had been idle, always depending on others to put in the work while he benefited from their labor.

His father had not been one to express appreciation to their staff. He wasn’t a harsh master, but he kept to a strict separation in roles and the attitude of the upper class that servants were there to serve, and their pay was thanks enough.

He could not agree after gaining an understanding of some of the work that went into running a modest household. Imagine how much more would be involved in sustaining a sizeable estate like theirs.

Matthew asked questions through the rest of the meal, fascinated by the breadth of her knowledge. He was astonished by the seemingly endless list of duties she performed every week. How she ever found the time to care for others, and so graciously, he couldn’t imagine.

But he was overcome with gratitude.