Her cheeks burned as she rose from her crouched position. “It’s just me,” she said softly. “Dorothea.”
His eyes dropped to the knife still in her hand. “Why do you have a knife?”
She glanced down and winced. “I thought… I thought you might be a robber.”
“A robber?” His brow rose in disbelief. “And you thought that little thing could stop me?”
She lifted the knife, wryly. “It isa scary knife.”
Dominic reached for a cloth and wiped his hands. “That knife is so dull it wouldn’t even cut through soft cheese.”
“It was the first thing I saw. I panicked,” she admitted, placing the knife back onto the counter.
His expression softened. “There’s no one here who wishes you harm. You know that, don’t you?”
She nodded, hesitating. “I do. But… sometimes my nerves get the better of me.”
“May I ask what you’re doing down here at this hour?”
Dorothea turned towards him, her fingers still resting near the loaf of bread. The moonlight slanted through the kitchen window, catching the glint of curiosity in his eyes.
“The same as you,” she replied. “I couldn’t sleep. I came down looking for food.”
He regarded her for a moment, his expression unreadable. “I shall leave you to it, then.”
A pang of disappointment surprised her, and she found herself speaking before she could second-guess the impulse. “You don’t have to leave,” she said. “There’s more than enough bread here for the both of us.”
His brow furrowed slightly. “I don’t believe it would be wise if I stayed.”
“Why?” she asked, a spark of dry humor creeping into her tone. “Do you think I’ll stab you with the bread knife?”
A faint grin tugged at the corner of his mouth. “No. That thought hadn’t occurred to me, actually.”
Dorothea turned back to the counter, searching for a suitable knife. “Then there’s no reason you can’t stay. We are both grown adults, perfectly capable of sharing a loaf of bread while being civil to one another.”
Dominic glanced back at the narrow servants’ staircase as though debating an escape. But then he gave a resigned nod. “I suppose there’s no harm in that.”
She sliced two generous pieces from the loaf and handed one to him. “I don’t know where the butter or proper plates are kept,” she admitted. “We’ll have to eat like savages.”
He accepted the bread with a half-laugh. “I’ve eaten with dirtier hands and colder meals under worse circumstances. This feels practically civilized.”
He gestured towards the small wooden table in the corner of the kitchen. “Shall we?”
Dorothea rounded the counter and settled into the seat closest to the window. Dominic took the one beside her, folding his long legs under the table with an ease that belied the tension still clinging to his shoulders.
“Couldn’t sleep either?” she asked after a few moments of quiet chewing.
Dominic shook his head. “No. I… had too much on my mind.” He exhaled heavily, then turned to face her more fully. “I wantto apologize for earlier. I had no right to speak to you the way I did.”
The sincerity in his voice caught her off guard. There was no defensiveness, no veiled sarcasm. Just quiet remorse.
“It’s all right.”
“No, it isn’t.” He leaned forward, bracing his forearms on the table. “Your father would have been furious with me. He adored you.”
The mention of her father made her chest tighten. She stared down at her bread, suddenly finding it difficult to swallow. “He did. He was my whole world.”
“I’m sorry he’s gone.”
