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I peered up at him, swallowing. He was so dangerously close to me, and his fingers were wrapped tightly around mine. His hold on me lingered for a little too long, although I was almost certain it was entirely my imagination.
It had to be my imagination.
Wasn’t it?
“It feels better now,” I said in a scratchy tone. “Just needed to loosen up.”
“Right. Well, I’m here if you need me.” Miles’ voice was low, and he hovered just a second too long before he released my hands and stepped back. His fingers trailed down my hand, and I bit back a squeak as a tingle danced down my spine.
All right.
Not everything about me was dry.
Ahem.
Moving on.
Very.
Far.
On.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Thankfully for me, Miles could cook.
It was the simplest of breakfasts, but it was very much welcomed after the storm. Besides, there was no telling how long the power would actually stay on for. It wasn’t uncommon for it to flick on and off over a period of several hours while the power company attempted to fix whatever the issue was.
At least with the wind gone, there was a little more signal for phones. After checking in with Adelaide and Evangeline, I’d learned that they’d made it out for their rescue mission just in time. The stream that wound through their land had burst its banks, flooding the only dirt road leading to the Fox and Hound Hotel.
That did not bode well for the rest of the village.
Thankfully, in such technologically centred times such as ours, there was an app for that.
Not all the roads were flooded—just the main one up to Arrowwood Estate, the road to the hotel, and some other minor areas in the village. A few shops near the river had taken minor damage, but the owners had enough sense to move their goods to higher ground, so their damage was minimal.
And for that, I was very grateful.
Aside from that, people had been displaced from their homes. The houses and cottages on low ground had taken a battering from the weather, and since the rain didn’t show many signs of letting up, there wasn’t a lot that could be done.
The only bright side was that nobody had been hurt or killed. That wasn’t unheard of in our storms, but it seemed as though everyone had been preventative as opposed to reactive in this occasion.
That didn’t calm Miles much, though.
“Are you sure they have enough food?”
“Yes,” I replied for the third time. “The hotel is run by my best friends, and I’ve known them my entire life. There’s no way Lady Vic would allow that place to be anything less than perfect.”
“Lady Vic? Beckham?”
I choked back a laugh. “No! Since when was she a Lady?”
He shrugged. “Thought David might have had his knighthood by now.”
“Not according to the media,” I retorted, hiding another laugh. “Lady Victoria Montgomery.”
“Your Lady or another kind of lady?”
“Mine, I guess.” I paused. “Her father is a Duke but she married a, um…” I trailed off. I hated the word commoner.
Trust me.
I’d seen some titled, fancy, upper-class people do some common as hell stuff, so the word just seemed horribly inappropriate.
“Commoner,” Miles said after a moment. “She married a working-class guy.”
“Yeah,” I replied slowly. “I hate that word. It seems so unnecessary.”
“How so?”
“Commoner? Really? In this age? Must we use it as an insult to people in a different position in life than ourselves?”
“All due respect, princess, you really don’t get it, do you?”
I was a hot second away from yelling at him about calling me that bloody nickname when I paused.
There was…something about the way he looked at me.
An earnest look in his eye. A genuine tilt of the head as he questioned me. An honest query that made me stop and stare.
“Don’t get what?” I asked softly.
“The truly classist nature of British society.”
He said the words so matter of fact, I couldn’t help but stop.
I glanced down at my hands.
Maybe I didn’t, you know?
I was privileged beyond belief. I was fully aware of that. I didn’t try to hide it. I wasn’t ignorant of that. And I most certainly never ever held myself on a pedestal the way people may have thought I did.
The question was—did Miles fully understand the truly classist nature of British society? Because I would put money on the fact he didn’t, either.
“Perhaps not,” I said after a moment. “But I’m always willing to learn and open myself to the opinions of other people. After all, nobody ever learnt anything by believing they were inherently right.” I paused. “And you’d know that, after the storm.”
He tilted his head in agreement. “You’re correct, of course. I was wrong, and I don’t mind saying so. I should have listened to you.”
“Thank you.”
“You’re welcome. But in the interest of our conversation, your hesitance to use the word ‘commoner’ is insulting. You’re right that we don’t live in medieval times, but I’m not ashamed to be a working-class man, Gabriella. I’m proud of what I do. I’m fucking proud of my ancestors and what they did. And you know what? You can hate the word ‘commoner’ all you like because it makes you uncomfortable, but you wouldn’t be in this house with your upper-class, aristocratic title if it weren’t for the commoners.”
