Page 7

CHAPTER SEVEN

As Matthew’s energy returned, he spent more and more time downstairs, in the kitchen or the sitting room, and outside. He watched for ways to help without Elizabeth protesting that he was doing too much.

He’d be well enough to travel soon and knew he needed to leave. But he was having trouble reconciling himself to saying goodbye.

There was also a matter that needed rectifying before he could go in good conscience. He waited until one morning when she had errands to run, then took the mirror from where she’d put it away.

A fresh wave of regret took hold as he looked at where the glass had been. Wrapping up the mirror, he tucked it under one arm and went in search of what he needed.

Matthew returned an hour later, his steps lighter. As he walked into the kitchen, he spied the pan of milk Elizabeth had left out the night before.

He found the churn in the pantry and put it on the table. After skimming the cream off the surface of the milk, he began to crank the handle. His arm grew sore, unused to sustained physical labor, but he persisted, refusing to give up before he finished.

It seemed hours later when it was done, although he knew it hadn’t been more than an hour he’d spent turning the handle. As he opened the lid to check, the door opened and Elizabeth hurried in, removing her hat.

“Oh!” She stopped short, her eyes round. “What are you doing?”

“I thought I’d make myself useful. I think it’s ready to drain. Would you like to supervise?”

“There’s no need. I’ll take it from here. But thank you for churning it for me.” She graced him with a smile that made the ache in his arm muscles evaporate.

“It’s the least I could do. Did you finish your errands?”

“All but one.” Elizabeth began draining the buttermilk into a clean pitcher. “Mrs. MacDonald caught me on my way to the grocer, and I stopped to visit her mother and pray with them. By the time our visit finished, I couldn’t go to both the grocer and the butcher, but I’ll finish tomorrow.”

“Do you visit parishioners often?”

“Two or three days per week. Many of them are advanced in age or have young children under foot, and they always appreciate an extra pair of hands.”

He smiled at her, warmth infusing his chest. “See? Kind.”

She rolled her eyes at him, but he saw her smile before she ducked her head.

He watched her work for a minute before forcing himself to broach the subject he dreaded. “I’m almost well enough to travel. I’m going to my family estate, Ravenshire Manor, to learn how to properly oversee it.”

Her gaze shot to him. “I see.” She chewed on her bottom lip. “Do you think you’ll return to London afterward?”

Matthew had given that some thought over the past several days. He’d never pictured himself living in the country.

Yet, he no longer had the stomach for the way he’d lived in London. He wasn’t the same man he was a few weeks ago. Sobriety had brought clarity, and he didn’t like what it revealed.

The country life might be where he belonged now.

“I’m not certain. I think I’ll be living at Ravenshire for the foreseeable future.”

She nodded, remaining silent as she began to squeeze the last liquid out of the butter.

He sat in the kitchen as long as he could, pretending to read his borrowed book while stealing glances at her all the while.