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Elizabeth just ignored her and continued to stab her muffin with a knife.
“If you’re not going to eat that, may I have it?” Lucas asked.
Elizabeth started to push her plate across the table.
“Wait! I’d like some more, too,” Jane chimed.
Elizabeth pulled the plate back, split the brutalized muffin remains in two, and pushed it back out.
“You’re rather grumpy this morning,” Jane said as she grabbed her share.
“Yes. Yes, I am.”
As if choreographed, all three younger Hotchkisses drew back and exchanged glances. It was rare for Elizabeth to be struck with ill temper, but when she was…
“I believe I shall go out and play,” Lucas said, standing up so fast he
knocked his chair over.
“And I believe I shall join you,” Jane said, shoving the rest of the muffin in her mouth.
The two children dashed out through the kitchen door. Elizabeth leveled a rather insolent stare in Susan’s direction.
“I’m not going anywhere,” Susan said. “We have too much to discuss.”
“Perhaps you noticed that I am not in a conversational mood?” Elizabeth picked up her tea and took a sip. It was lukewarm. She set it back down and got up to put more water on the stove.
Yesterday had been a total fiasco. Utter disaster. What had she been thinking? She was supposed to have been practicing her social skills and instead she’d been prattling on about turnips.
Turnips!
She hated turnips.
She’d tried to tell herself that she’d had no choice. There was more to Mr. Siddons than met the eye, and he’d clearly been playing some game of his own with her. But turnips? Why did she have to pick turnips? And why had she said they had something to do with diligence? Good Lord, how was she ever to explain that?
He had probably told all of Danbury House about her bizarre fascination with root vegetables. By the time she arrived at work that morning, the story would have probably circulated from the stables to the kitchen and back. Everyone would be laughing at her. And while she didn’t much mind the loss of Mr. Siddons as a “pretend marquis,” she was going to have to work with the man for months—maybe years!—to come. And he probably thought she was insane.
Elizabeth took a step toward the stairs. “I’m going to be sick.”
“Oh, no, you don’t!” Susan exclaimed, skidding around the table and grabbing Elizabeth’s arm. “You are going to Danbury House this morning if it kills you.”
“It is killing me. Trust me.”
Susan planted her free hand on her hip. “I’ve never known you to be a coward, Elizabeth Hotchkiss.”
Elizabeth wrenched her arm free and glared at her sister. “I’m not a coward. I just know when a battle is unwinnable. And believe me, this one has Waterloo written all over it.”
“We won at Waterloo,” Susan pointed out with a smirk.
“Pretend we’re French,” Elizabeth snapped. “I’m telling you, Mr. Siddons is not a good choice.”
“What’s wrong with him?”
“What’s wrong with him? What’s wrong with him?” Elizabeth’s voice rose with frustration. “There’s nothing wrong with him. Everything is wrong with him.”
Susan scratched her head. “Perhaps it is my tender years, or perhaps my brain is not as fully developed as yours—”
“Oh, please, Susan.”
