“Thank you.”
Emma leaned forward and embraced her. “It will all work out in the end,” she encouraged. “You shall see.”
“I hope so.”
Rising, Emma asked, “Do you still intend to go riding with us tomorrow?”
“I do.”
“Wonderful,” Emma replied. “We shall be looking forward to it.”
Ellie found herself smiling after she was left alone in her bedchamber. It felt good to have a friend like Emma in her life.
Roswell sat at the head of the table as he read the morning newspaper. He had just turned the page when he noticed that Miss Bentley was standing in the doorway, looking entirely unsure of herself. She was dressed in a dark blue riding habit with her brown hair pulled into a tight chignon. If women were selected based solely upon their looks, then Miss Bentley would be highly sought after. But that wasn’t the case. Thetoncould be quite unforgiving to the unfortunate.
He lowered the paper. “May I help you with something, Miss Bentley?”
“I was hoping to eat some breakfast.”
“And you are looking for my permission?”
She pressed her lips together, then said, “I do not mean to bother you, my lord.”
“Well, I’m afraid you failed in that regard.” He gestured towards the buffet table. “Go on, then. Help yourself to some breakfast.”
“Thank you,” she said as she stepped over and claimed a plate.
Roswell brought the paper back up and started reading it again. He stifled the groan that came to his lips when Miss Bentley came to sit to the right of him.
A footman placed a cup of chocolate in front of her and she promptly reached for it. A look of pure pleasure came to her face as she took a long sip of the warm drink.
“Have you not had chocolate before?” he asked.
She put the cup back down on the saucer and offered him a timid smile. “I’m afraid it has been quite some time since I have had it.”
“We have plenty,” he assured her. “You can have as much as you would like.”
“That is kind of you, my lord.”
Roswell glanced at her curiously. “Why is it that you don’t request a tray in your room?”
“I prefer to eat in the parlor.” She paused. “At least, I used to.”
“Why do you say that?”
“I’m afraid our small cottage does not have a parlor,” she admitted, “but it allows us to be much less formal.”
“Pray tell, how many servants do you employ at this cottage?”
“One,” she replied. “Our housekeeper.”
His brow lifted. “You only have one servant?” he repeated in surprise.
“It’s not as terrible as it sounds,” she insisted. “I have learned to make do with much less, and I have discovered I do not miss much.”
“Except chocolate,” he pointed out.
She glanced down at the cup. “Yes, precisely.”
