Amelia nodded with solemn seriousness, as though discussing a matter of great culinary importance. “Yes,” she replied. “Very healthy. Extremely boring. Perfect for people who dislike joy.”
David frowned harder, clearly offended by the concept on principle.
Grover sensed emotional turbulence and nudged him forward with encouraging enthusiasm, nearly breaking the boy’s resolve through sheer optimism alone.
Amelia turned back to her custard as though she had entirely lost interest in the matter, resuming her stirring with careful indifference. “Of course, custard would have been much more enjoyable,” she added almost idly, as though speaking to herself rather than to anyone present. “But alas.”
David hesitated again, visibly caught between suspicion and curiosity, before taking another step forward.
Amelia did not look at him, though she was acutely aware of his gradual approach and the small shift in atmosphere that accompanied it. She felt a quiet spark of satisfaction but kept it carefully hidden, knowing instinctively that pressure would undo everything.
“Custard?” David said at last, more quietly now, as though testing the word itself.
Amelia glanced at him at last, allowing a hint of consideration into her expression. “Possibly,” she replied.
That single word was enough. David moved closer to the counter while Grover followed with obvious delight at the apparent resolution of tension.
Valerie remained at the doorway, watching the scene with an expression that suggested she could not decide whether she was witnessing strategy or chaos.
Amelia returned to stirring, the faintest trace of satisfaction settling within her as she recognized, for the first time that morning, that she might not be entirely failing.
Chapter Eight
Gabriel returned to Anderton Manor late in the afternoon after spending several hours in the village settling disputes between tenants, reviewing accounts, and dealing with a merchant who appeared incapable of providing a direct answer to a direct question. By the time he entered the foyer, he was already in a poor mood.
Unfortunately, Mrs. Jacobs appeared to have been waiting for him. The housekeeper hurried toward him with the determined expression of a woman carrying alarming news. Gabriel immediately suspected either a fire, a burglary, or a dead body.
“Your Grace,” Mrs. Jacobs said breathlessly as she clasped her hands together, “I felt you ought to know at once.”
Gabriel removed his gloves and handed them to a footman. “Know what?”
Mrs. Jacobs looked genuinely scandalized. “The governess…”
His irritation sharpened instantly. “What has she done?”
Mrs. Jacobs lowered her voice as though discussing criminal activity. “She is in the kitchen.”
Gabriel frowned. “The kitchen?”
“Yes, Your Grace,” Mrs. Jacobs replied. “Cooking.”
He stared at her.
“With your wards,” she added dramatically.
For several moments, Gabriel said nothing. Then he pinched the bridge of his nose and wondered whether employing Amelia Shirley had been a catastrophic mistake. The woman had been in his household for scarcely a few days and already seemed determined to ignore every established rule. First, she had decided to cook. Now, she apparently involved the children in it. Every conversation with her felt less like managing a governess and more like containing a natural disaster.
“And that is not all, Your Grace. She sent a letter,” Mrs. Jacobs added.
“A letter? Where?” he asked.
“I do not know,” Mrs. Jacobs said.
Without another word, Gabriel turned and headed for the kitchen.
As he approached, the sounds reached him before the scene itself. Laughter drifted through the doorway. Not polite laughter. Genuine laughter. The sort of laughter that had become increasingly rare within the walls of Anderton Manor. Gabriel stepped inside, then stopped.
The room looked as though it had survived an attack by an unusually aggressive sack of flour.
