Page 4 of The Recluse and the Runaway

“When they are both full grown,” Peg sang, as she scrubbed the pots and pans.

“Of all the trees that are in the wood,” Millie trilled, breaking stale bread into crumbs.

And Nell again: “The holly wears the crown.”

“Perfect!” Nell wielded her spoon like a baton. “All together now: O, the rising of the sun, and—”

She saw Rupert and broke off, covering her mouth, and the others stopped as well, bewildered. They knew he wouldn’t object, but… Did lovely, angelic Nell fear a rebuke?

Hurriedly, he took up the chorus. “And the running of the deer!”

The others joined in. “The playing of the merry organ, Sweet singing in the choir.”

He smiled, trying not to gape at Nell. “Sweet singing indeed, ladies!”

“Good morning, sir!” Peg and Millie chorused, curtseying, and Nell hurriedly followed suit.

Rupert cleared his throat. “I see all is well this beautiful winter morning. Thank you for the excellent breakfast. What are you making now, Nell-who-bakes-so-well?”

Chapter Two

Nell took a deep breath. He was smiling. Her heart, which had thudded with anxiety, now beat with something akin to joy. He wasn’t angry, unlike Stepmother, who had forbidden her to sing. And he was a pleasure to look at, with his unruly brown hair and craggy features, and warm, kind grey eyes.

Mrs. O, who had just come up behind him, was smiling too. Not that Mrs. O seemed the scolding sort, but nor did Stepmother to her daughters and friends.

Nell grinned with relief. A servant shouldn’t grin at her employer, but how could she help herself? “Barley gruel for Cook, and I’d like to make her a beef tea for tomorrow, if I may please take a wee bit off the side of beef in the pantry?”

“Of course, of course.” He rubbed his hands together. “We must take good care of our dear Cook.”

“I should like to carry a bowl of gruel to Cook myself,” Nell said, “to see if she requires anything else, and to ask her advice for the Christmas celebrations. Mrs. O explained that the whole village will come here on Christmas Eve, and that we need to make at least a dozen Christmas pies, as well as a whole roast goose. Luckily, four puddings are already prepared and only need another boil. I should like to make my own special hard sauce—if there is enough butter to spare, that is.”

“Very good, very good indeed,” Sir Rupert said.

Encouraged, Nell added, “I hope Cook will give me permission to make the sauce, once I have assured her that I am not trying to take her place. That I will only be here for a short time to help out while she rests and mends.”

A change in Sir Rupert’s expression told Nell that she had said something inappropriate. Something pert and presumptive. Again.

For the five years since Papa’s death, she had tried to learn proper respect. She had done her best to remain silent and submissive. Not that it made any sense, for she wasn’t truly a servant, and even if she were, why shouldn’t she say what she thought? She was only trying to help; she never meant any harm.

Ah. Did Sir Rupert feel that she should work for him longer, in exchange for last night’s rescue of her sorry self?

Perhaps, but she couldn’t risk staying here more than a few days. It was too close to home. However, she would recompense his kindness well. She would prepare the best Christmas feast Wonderly Manor had ever seen—and then, alas, she would flee.

“Most thoughtful of you,” Sir Rupert said, but why was he frowning? “Mrs. O will take you to her room and introduce you. Carry on, then.” Abruptly, he turned and left.

With a sigh, Nell returned to stirring the gruel. Her most well-intentioned best was never enough.

“Poor Sir Rupert. He doesn’t want you to leave,” Millie said.

Nell stilled her spoon.

“Nor do we,” Peg said.

“Sir Rupert likes you, and so do we,” Millie said.

He liked her? She was used to frowns meaning anything and everything but liking. She began stirring the gruel again for something to do.

“Must you go, Nell?” asked Peg.