Matthew let the innkeeper’s wife know he wanted the stew, then strode over to where Mr. Miner sat. Mr. Miner slid out of his seat and clapped his hand on Matthew’s shoulder before pushing him down into a chair. “Haven’t seen you around lately. What have you been up to?”
“Reading, mostly.”
“Who is feeding you? Not Mrs. Tucker, I hope.”
Mrs. Tucker? Miss Shroud’s companion? Why would she be feeding him?
“No. I’ve been feeding myself.”
Mr. Miner looked at him as if he’d spoken another language. “In that room of yours? How have you managed that?”
“I’ve managed.” As the smells from the kitchen wafted through the room, Matthew did have to admit he hadn’t managed it well enough.
“Well, if you ever do see Mrs. Tucker when you are fetching or dropping off Miss Shroud, let her know I’m still waiting for her visit.”
“For Mrs. Tucker’s visit?” Last he’d talked to the soapmaker, he’d only had eyes for Miss Shroud. Not that he blamed him. Miss Shroud’s vitality, deportment, and air of confidence sometimes seemed more foreign in Fenswallow than her accent.
“Yes, it seemsshewas the one interested in the soaps all along. Not Miss Shroud. Miss Shroud was only feigning interest in soap. Can you believe that?”
“She told me about your soaps as well, so she must have been at least mildly interested in them.”
“No.” Mr. Miner shook his head. “I don’t think so. And although she seems harmless enough, you might want to keep an eye on her. It’s hard to trust a woman who would lie about soap.”
Matthew pursed his lips together. There were worse things than pretending to be interested in soap. What would Mr. Miner think of Matthew if he told him who he was?
He’d think him a distasteful human being, sitting around in a small town, making his family and future wife wait around for him.
And hewasdistasteful. He’d accepted that the moment he decided to leave Bridgewater. He’d rather be distasteful than despicable, and if he’d stayed and married that child for her money, he would have been both.
“I’m certain Miss Shroud didn’t purposely try to deceive you, Mr. Miner. I don’t know her well, but all that I do know is good. As for Mrs. Tucker, I don’t usually see her. When Miss Shroud and I are done working, I simply unhitch Marge, put away the cart, and she goes inside.”
“Well, if you do…”
“If I do.” Matthew nodded in agreement, even though that situation was unlikely to happen.
A bowl of stew was set in front of him and the smell made his empty stomach growl. Mrs. Howell, the innkeeper's wife, smiled at him. “We haven’t seen you for a while. You been eatin’ at that pretty miss’s house?”
Matthew’s hand froze just above the spoon. Apparently eating at home had done him more harm than good. “No. We just work together.”
The innkeeper’s wife snorted and turned to leave.
“It’s true,” Mr. Miner piped in. Matthew jerked his head up and looked at the older man. He was the last person he’d expected to defend him. Mr. Miner leaned forward for the innkeeper’s wife to hear. “You’ve seen that locket Miss Shroud always wears? Well, that’s because she’s got her cap set on someone else and his portrait is in there. So don’t you be spreading rumors about the two of them. We wouldn’t want to hurt her or that young man’s family.”
The innkeeper’s wife wiped her hands on her apron and shrugged, as if the whole topic was about as interesting as apebble in the street. “None of my business,” she said, then turned back toward the kitchen.
It took Matthew longer than it should have to pick up his spoon and start to eat. He’d come here wanting to ignore any questions hurled his way, but now he had to shovel a huge spoonful of burning hot stew into his mouth to stop himself from asking Mr. Miner a thousand questions himself. Who was the man Miss Shroud was interested in? Did he live here in town? He couldn’t. Matthew would have heard something about it if he did.
But how? He’d avoided everyone for nearly a week.
Miss Shroud didn’t act as if her heart were taken. At least, he hadn’t thought she had. He thought…well…sometimes he thought . . .
Blast, but he was being ridiculous. Did he really think so highly of himself that he could believe a woman like Miss Shroud might have been taken with him? Had his experience with Miss Duncan taught him nothing?
Matthew might catch a few young ladies’ eyes, but those who spent enough time with him always ended up disappointed. He did his best to ignore the way the stew burned on the way to his stomach, and continued to spoon it into his mouth until his bowl was empty.
Mr. Miner whistled. “I guess youhavebeen feeding yourself.”
“Yes, and now, I’d best be off.” He put a coin on the table. “Will you be sure Mrs. Howell gets this?”
