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“My grandmother was,” Evie answered without thinking.
Jane laughed at that. “What a combination, eh? Scottish and Irish. Wouldn’t tell by the accent, though. You”—she turned to Gabriel—“got yourself in some big trouble, young man.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Gabriel answered with a grin. Oh, he was acting smooth. He had the old woman wrapped around his finger in no time. Not that Evie could blame her.
“Done with your pie?” Gabriel suddenly looked at the untouched pie on her plate.
“I’m…” She looked at him, thinking hard how not to offend the old lady. “You know I stopped eating fish since my condition got apparent.” She was suddenly grateful for his lie. “My appetites changed drastically,” she said, looking at the widow, “and fish makes me nauseous.”
“Oh, why didn’t you say so!” The old woman was on her feet and grabbing Evie’s plate before she could respond. “Let me bring you more stew. Or would you rather have some tea? I can bake us some buns. I am good at baking, you see.”
She didn’t wait for Evie’s response and went to put a kettle on the stove. “I have the dough all ready right here.” She started whipping out the dough and some other ingredients for the buns.
“That’s not necessary,” Evie assured her, mortified that she made the woman work to please her again.
“Buns would be lovely,” Gabriel drawled, interrupting her.
Evie threw him a chastising gaze. He raised a brow questioningly at her, and Evie sighed. For a privileged viscount, it was natural to have everybody running around to please him. Evie, although a granddaughter of a duke, was raised in a different household. Her grandparents had it tough at the beginning of their marriage, doing a lot of menial work themselves. When they did come into money, they didn’t forget their roots, instilling the love of labor in their children and making sure they were grateful for what they had because any day, it could just disappear.
Evie loved helping the cook in the kitchen and learned to clean after herself. Respect was taken seriously in the Somerset household. That was why all the servants loved him and, by extension, doted on Evie.
The evening stretched on as they played dominoes, then had some tea with buns. Widow Jane also went down to her small garden after the rain calmed and collected some berries. Evie wanted to help her, but she protested vigorously, taking Gabriel with her instead. Evie laughed to herself. The old woman was already in love with the charming viscount.
Finally, the old widow got tired and sent them upstairs to rest. Evie was ready to fall off her feet.
She washed up, dressed in her shift, and climbed up on one side of the bed.
Gabriel, however, had other plans. Once he got ready for bed, he took one pillow and an afghan resting on the chair and settled on the floor.
Evie sat up and looked over at him. “You are going to sleep there?” she asked, surprised at his behavior.
“Mhm,” was all he said.
“I thought you said you could control yourself not to touch me?” she asked, still sitting, bed covers clutched to her chest.
“I can,” he said and turned to his right side, facing away from her. “I am just tired, and I need rest. I don’t want to have to be woken up in the middle of the night in case my hand accidentally brushes your side.”
“Last time, it wasn’t just your hand brushing my side—” she started defensively, but he interrupted her.
“Sleep, Evie. Tomorrow will be a long day.”
Evie set her lips in a pout, not that he could see her, and settled back in her bed. She’d gotten used to his comforting warmth at her side. Not having Gabriel in her bed already felt strange.
