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Felt like there was moss growing in his brain and cotton wool in his mouth. What time was it anyway? He thudded out of bed and pushed aside a curtain, wincing in the sudden slash of sunshine.
Already afternoon. He’d slumbered the whole day away.
He splashed cold water on his face and dressed hastily.
Alice’s cat pranced into the room and rubbed against his boot, shamelessly angling for a scratching.
Nick knelt down. “Hello there, what’s your name again? Kali? You like me, even if your mother thinks I’m a stubborn, heartless fool.” He had to go and find Alice and apologize.
The noise of clattering crockery sounded from the direction of the kitchens and Nick noticed there was a tempting odor curling in the air.
More clanging from below stairs and the sound of muffled curses and feminine laughter. What was happening down there? Was Alice in the kitchens?
The sound of her laughter rippled cool and clear like lake water touched by a stone.
His stomach growled. It did smell good, whatever was happening in the kitchens.
The cat quirked her small, pointy chin, listening to the racket, and decided to investigate, bolting away as swiftly as she’d come.
His boots started carrying him out the door before his mind realized he was moving.
A bright flash of color in the corner of his eyes made him pause outside the kitchens.
Flowers.
Yellow daisies in vases on the tables.
A window open somewhere, carrying the scent of garden loam inside the walls.
It was jarring, the daisies and the fresh air. Out of place in his dark, decadent world.
When he reached the kitchens, the scene unfolding before his eyes was nothing Nick would have ever expected to find at Sunderland.
Alice had enlisted his men to her devious purposes. Bill peeled potatoes while Pigeon stoked the hearth fire.
And March, even March, was chopping carrots. Sullenly chopping... but still.
Consorting with his wife. The destroyer of his equilibrium.
Turncoats.
The cat watched everything with great interest from a position near the warm hearth.
Alice had her sleeves rolled up and was stirring the bubbling contents of a large black pot.
Nick hovered in the doorway, not wanting to disturb the scene, feeling that he would be out of place in the cozy room.
She smiled as she stirred, humming a happy song.
“’Ere’s your carrots,” March said, shoving a handful at Alice.
“Why thank you, Mr. March.” She beamed at the footman. “Throw them in the pot, if you please.”
March let the carrots slide from his hands into the soup.
Had he washed his hands? His wrists were suspiciously white and freshly scrubbed-looking.
“You know, Mr. March,” Alice said. “Bill tells me you like marmalade, and I will receive a jar this month from my friend Thea who is traveling this summer to her estate in Ireland. The most marvelous orange marmalade in the world. I’m willing to part with a jar... for the price of a smile.”
