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I don’t know why that amused me quite as much as it did.
He turned to her with a smile. “Let me know if you need any help, Grandma.”
“I won’t.” She sniffed and turned away. “Off you go.”
He bent to kiss her cheek, an action she received with a tilt of her head, then he turned to me. “Miss Hopkins. Always a pleasure.”
“I can’t say I agree,” I muttered, and his laughter echoed through the library as he left, closing the door behind him.
The dowager duchess looked at me with twinkling eyes. “I’m with you. It’s rarely a pleasure with him around.”
“Oh, I didn’t mean—” I paused and gave a rueful smile. “That was rude of me, Your Grace.”
“Evelyn.” She picked up the teapot and poured a cup without me asking her to. “There’s absolutely nothing graceful about me, my dear. And rude, perhaps, but truthful nonetheless.”
I tried to hide my smile. “Then please call me So—Camilla.”
“So-Camilla?” Evelyn questioned. “What’s that? One of those stupid kids shows?”
“Camilla,” I replied with another smile with Nancy’s words ringing in my ears. “Oh, thank you for the tea.”
“You’re welcome. I made it, so I know it’s decent. Not like the bollocks everyone else makes.”
I was in love.
I had to admit that I was irrationally obsessive over how I made and drank my tea. I had yet to find anyone who could make it quite the same way, and my mother was the only person who even came close.
Camilla had learnt a long time ago to just put the teabag in the cup and wait for me to make it myself.
She thought I was a diva.
I just thought I couldn’t start my day properly unless my tea was perfectly made. I didn’t understand the issue with that.
Some people were fussy over coffee and put all sorts of stuff in it – vanilla and caramel and syrups and sauces or whatever else they did.
Just give me a cup of tea that’s been steeped for three minutes, one- and three-quarter teaspoons of sugar, and two and a half dashes of milk.
It really wasn’t that complicated an order.
I put my sugar of choice into the cup and stirred it in, then sipped.
Oh.
Evelyn could make a cup of tea.
“Oh. This is delightful,” I said, looking over at her. “I’ve not met anyone who can make tea the way I like it. This is the closest yet.”
She tilted her head to the side. “Really? I find myself wondering why nobody can make a cup of tea either. Hugo is the only person who comes close, but even then, it still tastes like tea mixed with piss.”
I snorted, and hot tea went up my nose. I pinched the bridge of my nose and squeezed my eyes shut until the overwhelming burning sensation stopped spreading through the upper front part of my head.
Wow.
“Sorry about that,” Evelyn said brightly when I opened my eyes, not looking sorry in the slightest.
“It’s fine,” I croaked out, putting the teacup down. “I understand. My flatmate just puts the bag in the cup and leaves it for me to do because she’s tired of me complaining.”
“I wish people would let me make my own tea. I might be eighty in two weeks, but I’m as fit as a fiddle. The stick is for optics,” she said, patting the walking stick that was resting next to her. “It’s also to beat people with, but don’t repeat that.”
