“Shortly sir.” Drystan rigidly turned to Galoncryf, the implacable expression once more in place.
Her father’s narrowed eyes pointedly looked at the pudding between them. “Another dessert wasted, my dear?”
“It was the tiniest of bites,” she said.
He huffed. “Very well, there is some comfort knowing this will be the last year.”
Oh!She glanced to Drystan, who wasn’t facing her. Was he already putting the evening’s events together: her ordering more wine served, her delay in the kitchen, and taking the chance to touch him?
Everyone was aware Galoncryf estate suffered two bad winters. Her father knew she didn’t care for John, but it didn’t matter. The fact John knew she hated him didn’t matter. Her fate was calling. She’d hoped the extra time in the kitchens would annoy the family enough they’d go home.
“Come my dear, and let’s allow the servants to conduct their duties.” Her father held out his arm for her to take. When she did, her father turned to his steward. “Drystan! See the pudding put to rights, and you, the butler, and housekeeper, come join us in the dining hall. There will be much to celebrate tonight!”
A quick turn and her back was almost to Drystan but not before she caught his eye.
His anguished dark eyes! He had to know about John and the negotiations. Her heart! Why did they talk of inconsequential matters like puddings and jests! Why hadn’t they talked of their feelings? Was she only imagining what she saw in his expression? No, he more than cared for her; he had to.
It was in the look he gave her, in the longing and loss…in every emotion he never quite showed her, and her heart answered him the same. Answered as it should have, instead of with distractions like frogs in beds and branches swung at heads.
And she could do nothing as he pressed a hand to his heart as if trying to hold it in…or perhaps from breaking apart. If only she could do the same, but her father already whisked her around the corner to enter the dining hall.
All conversation stopped the moment they appeared. Her mother looked a bit distressed, John’s family, the Evanses, a bit too confident. Their other guests, the Williams family, however, looked pleasant enough.
“All is well?” her mother asked.
“As always, my dear,” her father answered. “Our daughter was simply ensuring this moment of the meal far surpassed anything previously. It being a special moment and all.”
“I can’t see how anything could surpass that goose, Deryn.” John’s mother offered.
Elizabeth’s mother gave a polite smile. “Thank you, Blythe. It was delicious, wasn’t it?”
“It’s heartening to see Miss Galoncryf pay such close attention to household duties,” John said. “That bodes well.”
“You can be assured she is well versed in all household skills, Mr. Evans,” her mother said. “It is why she is indispensable to Galoncryf estate.”
The senior Mr. Evans cleared his throat loudly.
“Yes, well,” her father said. “It is well our estate already possesses such a skilled mistress as you, my dear.”
Elizabeth’s mother frowned.
Elizabeth’s heart sank. Everyone spoke clearly, concisely…coldly. “Did we not pour the Burgundy wine whilst I was away? You all must try it.”
“Oh, no, dear Elizabeth,” John said. “It was important we waited for you.”
Her father was jovial. John was smug. Elizabeth didn’t know if she was thankful she was seated away from John because she felt like hitting him on the head with a dessert fork or upset because she’d be sick any moment, and she couldn’t relieve her roiling stomach in his lap.
The housekeeper and butler swept into the room, quickly followed by two servants carrying the Christmas pudding between them. Behind all of them stood Drystan. When the two servants stopped and outstretched their arms, Drystan, now facing the tray, took a candle from the table beside him and held it up.
The entire room became still. Elizabeth cursed the light behind Drystan and the dimness of the dining hall, for she couldn’t see him clearly. What she could see of the man she loved was every inch a steward of the once-prosperous estate he tried to save.
Days and nights and months of gruelling work, but Drystan’s father had been sick and had neglected matters too long. Her own father had been worse than that, not helping, not listening to Drystan when he suggested changes. Then the winters came.
She knew in her heart if Drystan had the property, he would have saved it, saved…her. No, the proud man holding the single flame looked not like a steward but a landowner. He looked…like hers.
A hush descended as Drystan stretched out the moment. Then with a flourish, he lit the dessert, gave a quick bow, and stepped back to let the pudding be the center of attention. When all eyes were on the flared flames, her eyes were only on him. As if he sensed her gaze, he looked up, but nothing in his expression belied the last look they shared. That man in the kitchen, that time they shared with one last bite of Christmas, was gone.
Blinking rapidly, she looked at the happy crowd. Robust delight on her father’s face, a knowing quirk to John’s lips, his mother and father’s expressions were far too satisfied, and her mother looked worried.
