Page 5

CHAPTER FIVE

Elizabeth finished pinning her hair and hurried downstairs. She had slept later than usual. Reaching the kitchen, she found her father sitting at the table. He looked up from his Bible.

“I was wondering if you would be making an appearance this morning.”

“I’m sorry, Papa. I’ll have your breakfast soon.”

There was no answer as she grabbed a pan and put it on the stove top to heat, adding a spoonful of fat.

She cracked an egg deftly into a bowl and stirred in milk, herbs, and spices.

Grabbing yesterday’s bread, she sliced a few pieces, soaked them in the egg mixture, and coated them with bread crumbs before putting them into the pan.

She sliced a few onions and tomatoes, arranging them around the edges of the pan to cook as the bread fried. When they were finished, she slid them onto a plate and cracked more eggs into the pan, frying them and adding them to the plate before placing it in front of her father.

With one hand, he held out his teacup to her without looking as he began to eat with his other hand. Suppressing a sigh, she refilled the cup.

Footsteps on the stairs surprised her, and she glanced over to see Lord Hadleigh standing near the bottom, wearing a hesitant expression. Before she could greet him, her father’s bombastic tones rang out.

“Finally decided to stop lazing about?”

The earl’s eyes narrowed as he glanced at Papa. “Something like that.” His expression smoothed as he looked to her. “Good morning, Miss Stanley.”

Elizabeth bobbed a curtsy, knowing her father would expect it of her, although he hadn’t bothered showing proper deference to the earl himself. “Good morning, Lord Hadleigh. Are you hungry?”

“Exceedingly. Delicious aromas wafted up to me, and I couldn’t resist coming down to see what you’re making.”

She nodded at a chair. “I’ll have your breakfast ready in a few minutes.” She began to prepare his food, mindful that silence had fallen at the table. When it finally became too thick, she spoke.

“Did you sleep well, my lord?”

“I did, thank you. Did you?”

She stirred the vegetables and turned over the bread slices. “I always sleep well once my head hits the pillow.”

“You work so hard that I imagine you’re sometimes almost asleep on your feet.”

Her shoulders tightened at a quiet scoff from her father, but he wasn’t finished.

“Elizabeth works no harder than other women in this parish.”

“I admire the work ethic of the women in the parish.” There were several beats of silence before the earl spoke again. “What of the men?”

“What do you mean, Lord Hadleigh?” her father said frostily.

“You said the women of the parish work as hard as your daughter, whom I’ve seen keep herself diligently to task all day long. What are the parish men doing during that time?”

Elizabeth flipped the eggs she was frying, straining to hear her father’s answer.

The pages of his Bible thumped close and his chair scraped back from the table. “I assure you, my lord, we men have more than enough to keep us employed throughout the day. Which is more than I can say for some.”

Without another word, Papa left the room.

She turned from the stove, an apology dying on her lips as she met the earl’s flinty eyes. “What is it?”

“Does your father always treat you in such a fashion?”

She summoned a half smile. “He doesn’t mean anything by it. He has high expectations for the people of his parish.”

His eyes hardened further, and she wondered if she ought to retreat.

Matthew closed his eyes and took several calming breaths. His anger at Mr. Stanley was clearing frightening Miss Stanley, which was the last thing he wished to do.

He’d woken that morning with an unusual lightness. Yesterday afternoon had been delightful. The food was delicious, the weather refreshing, and the company engaging.

So his face had been damaged. People had survived much worse—or not survived at all—and he would survive this.

When the delicious aromas of breakfast had reached him, he hurried downstairs ready to greet Miss Stanley, only to find her cantankerous father at the table.

The vicar’s surly disposition was no different from the only time he’d visited Matthew. Evidently that was his natural state.

Matthew could tolerate Stanley’s dismal mood and manners, but when he showed such disregard for his daughter’s labor and left without so much as a thank you, Matthew had wanted to throttle the man. She deserved better treatment.

He strove now to gentle his response. “He should be proud of your industrious example, if not thankful for the work you do to care for him and keep the vicarage so tidy and comfortable. I certainly am. Thank you.”

Her cheeks were flushed from the hot stove, but he swore the blush on them deepened. She turned back to plate his food, but not before she began to smile, igniting a warmth deep within him.

She put the plate before him and poured him a cup of tea.

“Won’t you join me?” he asked.

Her startled gaze shot to him. “I…I have things I need to do.”

“Surely those things can wait until you eat breakfast. Unless you’ve already eaten?”

Miss Stanley chewed on her lower lip. “No, not yet.”

Matthew got up and took down a plate from the cabinet, moving half of his food onto it before retrieving a fork and setting it next to the plate. When she hesitated, he nodded at the chair.

She wrung her hands, her face serious. “Won’t you be hungry if you share so much of your breakfast? I can always make more for myself.”

“No, this is fine. My appetite has diminished somewhat since my injury.” He waited for her to sit before retaking his own chair.

They ate in silence as his mind began to wander. How had Miss Stanley become the woman she was with a father like the vicar? He studied her until her eyes lifted to him.

He cleared his throat. “Your name is Elizabeth?”

She blushed as she nodded. “My mother chose it.”

“I’m Matthew.” He doubted she would use his given name, but he wanted her to know it regardless. “Will you tell me about your mother?” He hoped the question wouldn’t upset her.

Instead, her eyes grew distant and a sweet smile appeared on her face.

“Mama was…kind, and beautiful, and she always smelled like lemons. She would create the loveliest lace and use it to make my dresses pretty. She laughed a lot, and I think she made Papa happy.

“I remember him smiling, when I was a girl.” Her face grew pensive.

“How old were you when she…,” he faltered to a stop. “Never mind, I shouldn’t have asked.” He focused anew on his breakfast.

“No, it’s all right. I was eight when influenza spread through our parish. I don’t remember much about that time. I became ill first, and Mama nursed me. Then she became ill, and Papa found someone to help care for us both.

“I recovered, but Mama continued to weaken. Although she coughed a lot, I kept thinking she’d get better and life would return to normal.

“One day, the physician came to our house and I was shooed away from her bedside. After he left, Papa came to tell me Mama had gone to heaven and that I needed to be brave.”

Christ. That was how the man told his daughter she’d lost her mother? He couldn’t fathom being so callous. How someone as kind as Elizabeth came from such a man, he’d never understand.

“I’m sorry. It must have been very difficult.” His words were woefully inadequate, but he didn’t know what else to say.

She gave him a small, sad smile. “Would you like more tea?” she asked, glancing at his cup.

He shook his head. “No, thank you, I’ve had enough.”

She nodded and turned her attention to her breakfast. They ate in companionable silence, each one lost in thought.