Maybe they hadn’t.
For reasons he couldn’t quite name, Mother was saddened to think that Vasily was genuinely unaware of his own appeal, so he raised his gaze from the dirt, caught Vasily’s gaze, and said firmly, “A face like yoursanda job at the castle? You’re a catch, lad. I daresay you could have any young man you wanted, if you set your mind to it. Why not find someone who takes your fancy and try flirting yourself?”
Vasily’s cheeks stained pink against his pale skin. “I…I could,” he said, almost wonderingly. His smile widened. “Icould,and nobody would care, would they? Not in Lilleforth.”
He beamed like he’d just been handed the key to a chest of unknown treasures.
Vasily continued to smile to himself all afternoon as he polished the tack and swept the stables and cleaned the horses’ hooves and filled the feed troughs, and that smile made something warm bloom in Mother’s belly.
He hoped the laddidfind someone to flirt with, because Mother got the feeling Vasily hadn’t been able to do so openly before.
At the end of the day after the stables has been closed up for the night, Mother joined Vasily in the walk up to the castle for their dinner. “I’ve heard it’s beef and ale pie tonight.” It was a favourite of his, and he smiled at the thought.
They sat down with their pies at the long, crowded table, and Mother watched as Vasily exchanged nods and greetings and snippets of conversation with the other staff who were sharing a meal. Vasily had a talent with people, and he seemed perfectly at home after just a week. Mother couldn’t help but envy his easy manner and charm. If Vasily ever did find someone to flirt with, Mother was sure he’d be devastatingly good at it.
But Vasily didn’t seem inclined to linger after his meal was finished. He turned down an invitation from some of the others to go into town, yawning and pleading tiredness, and Mother joined him. Vasily was unusually quiet on the walk back to the cottages.
“Not a fan of the pies, lad?” Personally, Mother couldn’t think of a single thing not to like about a good pie.
“Oh no, they were lovely. It’s just…” He stopped walking and turned to Mother. “I can’t cook.” His shoulders hunched at the admission. “I wish I could. Then I could fend for myself and not have to face a kitchen full of people. Not that I don’t like everyone here,” he hastened to add. “I’d just like to be able to”—he shrugged— “stay home and roast an egg or something.”
Vasily sighed and trudged along the path, and Mother found himself throwing an arm over his shoulders as they walked. The lad had broad shoulders, but Mother had a long enough reach that Vasily fitted quite perfectly against his side. Vasily leaned into the touch. “I have bad news, lad,” Mother said. “You don’t roast eggs. You boil ‘em.”
Vasily gasped, looking positively betrayed, and Mother fought back a smile.
“Tell you what. I’m sure Cook or one of the girls in the kitchen would be happy to teach you some of the basics.”
Vasily shook his head. “I wouldn’t inflict it on them. The last time I tried making porridge, I burnt the entire arse out of a pot. Cook chased me down the hallway with a wet dishrag and banned me from the pal—the kitchens.”
Mother chuckled at the mental image. “Ah well, we’ve all done something like that. First time I tried to cook, I blackened a haddock and filled the entire house with smoke.” He smiled at the memory. “I was twelve, I think.”
“Oh no, I wasn’t a child when I burnt the porridge,” Vasily said with a wry twist of his mouth. “This was last month.”
Mother couldn’t help but laugh out loud at that, and Vasily joined him. His laugh was rich and deep, echoing through the night air, and by the time they reached the door of Vasily’s cottage, his customary cheerful smile was back in place.
He stepped out from under Mother’s arm, where he’d remained tucked against him for the entire walk back, and opened his door. The cottage was in darkness. Before he could disappear inside, Mother said, “There’s a place down at the docks where I go some nights that does a nice fish supper. You could join me next time I go, if you wanted a change from the kitchens.” He wasn’t even sure why he was asking except that he liked Vasily and he was new to the city, and showing him around seemed like the decent thing to do.
Vasily paused with the door open and gave a small, bashful smile. “That would be nice. I’ve found that I’m quite fond of fish.”
“We’ll do that, then.” Mother gave a slight nod and walked away, his breath fogging the air as he walked. When he entered his own cottage and saw the embers glowing in the hearth, waiting to be stoked back to life, a thought struck him. There had been no embers in Vasily’s hearth. Odds were his fire had gone out, and he was probably desperately trying to get it started again. The sigh he gave was fond as he carefully scooped some coals into a bucket and, cradling it gently, went back to Vasily’s cottage and rapped on the door.
Vasily pulled the door open a few inches, his hair hanging loosely round his face where he’d let it out of its ponytail, his shirt untucked. “Yes?”
Mother blinked. “Sorry, lad. I didn’t think you’d be getting undressed.”
Vasily looked down at himself. “Oh no, it’s fine.” He tucked his shirt in hastily and opened the door wider. “Did you need something?”
“I wondered if you needed a hand with the hearth,” Mother said, shifting from foot to foot and holding the bucket out. “I’m guessing it went out again.”
Vasily ran a hand over the back of his neck, ducking his head. “Will you think me hopeless if I say yes?”
“Not at all, lad. I suspected as much, so I brought some coals over to get it going.” Vasily stepped aside to let him in. The warmth flooding him at Vasily’s pleased smile was a direct contrast to the chill that was seeping out of the stone walls.
He crouched in front of the hearth and made short work of starting the fire, being sure to show Vasily what he was doing every step of the way, instructing him on how to add the fuel just so and how to bank the coals so it could be easily revived in the morning. Vasily nodded, his brow creased in concentration as he added another small log. “I’m sure I’ll get the hang of it this time,” he said. “I just forgot this morning. At home, the maids would do it for me.” He rubbed his hands together and held them out towards the flames, the firelight illuminating the shadow of his jawline and making his eyes gleam.
“Oh? Well off, were you?”
Vasily tensed. “You could say that,” he said, carefully neutral, and Mother knew not to press further.
