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Godric woke the next morning to the sounds of feminine voices in the room next to his. He lay in bed, blinking for a moment, thinking how foreign it was to hear activity from that direction.
He slept in the ancient master’s bedroom, of course, and the mistress of the house had the connecting room. But Clara had occupied the rooms for only the first year or two of their marriage. After that, the disease that had eventually eaten away at her body had begun to grow. The doctors had recommended complete quiet, so Clara had been moved to the old nursery a floor above. There she had suffered for nine long years before she’d died.
Godric shook his head and climbed from his bed, his bare feet hitting the cold floor. Such maudlin thoughts wouldn’t bring Clara back. If they could, she would’ve sprung alive, dancing and free from her terrible pain, thousands of times in the years since her death.
He dressed swiftly, in a simple brown suit and gray wig, and left his room while the female voices were still chattering indistinctly next door. The realization that Lady Margaret had slept so close to him sent a frisson along his nerves. It wasn’t that he ran from such signs of life, but it was only natural to be unused to the presence of others—female others—in his gloomy old house.
Godric descended the stairs to the lower level. Normally he broke his fast at a coffeehouse, both to hear the latest news and because the meals at his own home were somewhat erratic. Today, however, he squared his shoulders and ventured into the little-used dining room at the back of the house.
Only to find it occupied.
“Sarah.”
For a disconcerting second, he hadn’t recognized her, this self-possessed lady, dressed in a sedate dove-gray costume. How many years had it been since he’d last seen her?
She turned at her name, and her calm face lit with a smile of welcome. His chest warmed and it caught him off guard. They’d never been close—he was a full dozen years older than she—and he’d not even known that he’d missed her.
Apparently he had.
“Godric!”
She rose, moving around the long, battered table where she’d been seated alone. She hugged him, swift and hard, her touch a shock to his frame. He’d been in solitude so very long.
She moved back before he could remember to respond and eyed him with disconcertingly perceptive brown eyes. “How are you?”
“Fine.” He shrugged and turned away. After nearly three years, he was used to the concerned looks, the gentle inquiries, especially from women. Sadly, though, he hadn’t become any more comfortable with them. “Have you already eaten?”
“As of yet, I haven’t seen anything to eat,” she observed drily. “Your man, Moulder, promised me breakfast and then disappeared. That was nearly half an hour ago.”
“Ah.” He wished he could feign surprise, but the fact was he wasn’t even sure there was anything edible in the house. “Er … perhaps we should decamp to an inn or—”
Moulder burst through the door, carrying a heavy tray. “Here we are, then.”
He thumped the tray down in the center of the table and stepped back in pride.
Godric examined the tray. A teapot stood in the center with one cup. Beside it were a half-dozen or so burned pieces of toast, a pot of butter, and five eggs on a plate. Hopefully they’d been boiled.
Godric arched an eyebrow at his manservant. “Cook is … er … indisposed, I perceive.”
Moulder snorted. “Cook is gone. And so is that nice wheel o’ cheese, the silver saltcellar, and half the plate. Didn’t seem too happy when he heard last night that we had so many guests.”
“Just as well, I’m afraid, considering the unfortunate way he handled a joint.”
“He was overfamiliar with your wine stock, too, if you don’t mind me saying so, sir,” Moulder said. “I’ll go see if we have any more teacups, shall I?”
“Thank you, Moulder.” Godric waited until the butler left the room before turning to his sister. “I apologize for the paucity of my table.”
He held out a chair for her.
“Please don’t worry,” Sarah said as she sat. “We did descend on you without any notice.”
She reached for the teapot.
“Mmm,” Godric murmured as he lowered himself to a chair across from her. “I wondered about that.”
“I was under the impression that Megs had written to you.” His sister lifted an eyebrow at him.
He merely shook his head as he took a piece of toast.
