She sat ramrod straight, gave James curt instructions for what she wanted, held back her instinct to thank him, and hoped it wouldn’t damage the progress they’d made. She ate slowly, never interrupting the silence.
When Halverton finished reading, he folded the paper and placed it beside his plate.
“My lord, I wondered if I might collect some flowers in the hothouse today.”
Halverton tilted his head. “Why?”
“Lady Severcombe mentioned that flower arranging is a popular hobby for noble Eldrossi women. I thought I might turn my hand to it.” It was the one hobby she thought she might be able to stand. At least it was close to the herbal work she was used to. There was nothing about music or art that appealed to her.
Halverton smiled. “A marvellous idea. I will send a message to the head gardener to expect you.”
He rose to leave, stopping behind her chair as he crossed to the door. “I am pleased to see you have not let yesterday’s incident derail your progress.”
The head gardener met her at the hothouse with a stiff bow and a pair of shears. He spoke to her with a deference that made Aoife uncomfortable, explaining which blooms were in favour this season and which colours pleased Lord Halverton. She nodded, asked careful questions, and let him guide her hand as she cut.
Mrs Harrow took over inside. She showed Aoife how to strip stems cleanly, how to make an arrangement that was pleasing and balanced.
“Don’t overdo it; too many and it looks cluttered,” she said, adjusting a stem. “Every choice should be deliberate.”
After lunch she sought James, finding him in the butler’s pantry, polishing silver until his reflection warped and reformed in the curved metal. He did not look up as she approached.
“James,” she said.
“Yes, miss.”
She hesitated. Was she going to do this? She’d only just started to build a bridge with him. Should she ask Kit instead?
She took so long to speak that he looked up at her. If there was anyone in the house who would not hesitate to correct her, it was James. She forced herself to speak. “I need help with my accent.”
James’ brows rose.
“Mrs Harrow is an excellent tutor,” she rushed to say. “But she’s decided it’s good enough; she’s stopped correcting me.” She swallowed hard. “I don’t want to be good. I want to be perfect.”
James didn’t speak, and she knew she’d have to ask directly.
“Will you help me?”
He considered her for a moment longer, then returned to the tray in his hands. “Very well.”
He made her repeat simple phrases at first. Greetings. Pleasantries. He corrected her mercilessly, making her say the same sentence again and again until her mouth was dry and muscles she hadn’t even known existed ached. All the time he never looked up from his silver.
“That’ll do,” he said finally, some hours later.
“I’m still not saying it right, am I?”
“No, but I’ve run out of silver to polish and we’ll be starting on dinner preparations soon.”
She hadn’t noticed James was already packing away the polish, cloths and brushes, and preparing to leave. “Might I trouble you to tutor me again tomorrow?”
James considered her. “All right. So long as it doesn’t interfere with my duties.”
“Of course.”
James left, and Aoife went in search of Clara, finding her in the servants’ hall sewing padding into the hips of one of Aoife’s dresses. Aoife cleared her throat to draw the maid’s attention.
“Can I help you, miss?” Clara asked. She was much more formal when there were others around.
“I’d like to speak to you in private, if that’s all right. In my room.”
