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Her face turned a brilliant shade of red, and she glanced at the footman hovering near the sideboard full of breakfast dishes.
“Yes,” she whispered as she chose a seat close to Arthur. He doubted it was out of any desire to be near him, but rather to keep their conversation from being overheard.
“Good. Are you sore?” He kept his voice low to protect her from further embarrassment.
“A little, but… but not in a terrible way.”
“I’m glad to hear that. You may request a bath whenever you wish. I want you to suffer no discomfort while staying at Castleton Hall. Now, eat and keep me company while I finish my paper.”
She arched a brow. “You really are used to having everything and everyone at your beck and call,” she murmured before filling a plate of food. He was glad to see she was eating more this morning.
“So,” he began as he folded up his paper. It hurt his eyes to read too long, and he didn’t want her to know that. She eyed it with hope, and after a moment he passed it to her. She all but snatched it up and eagerly opened it.
“So,” he began again. “I must dig through the attics and work on inventory for the estate today. You are free to do as you please. This evening I should like to dine with you, of course…” He left the rest of his desires unspoken. Her gaze lifted from the paper and she answered with a slight nod of agreement.
“Good.” He drummed his fingertips on the table as she ate and read the paper without giving him another glance. She seemed quite engrossed in it.
“Are you an avid reader of thePost?” he asked as she finished a slice of marmalade toast.
“What?”
“The paper. I take it you enjoy it?”
“Er… yes. Aunt Florence and I… we can only afford to buy the paper every few months or so.”
Arthur frowned. “Is the income my great-uncle paid the only means you and your aunt truly have to live on?”
She swallowed hard. “Yes…”
“Christ,” he muttered. Her face reddened again, and he wondered if she ever felt light-headed from her constant blushing.
She finished her breakfast and folded the newspaper with such reverent care that something twisted sharply in Arthur’s chest. He waved a footman over.
“Please put the paper in Miss Matthew’s room.”
She reluctantly let the servant carry the paper away, then turned to Arthur. “Did you say you were planning to investigate the attics and prepare an inventory?”
“Yes.” It was not something he looked forward to. “I need to know if there is anything of value stored upstairs that Uncle Bernard forgot about.”
“I… Perhaps I could help you. I have nothing better to do and am not used to being idle.”
He hesitated a moment, then stood. “All right. Come with me while I fetch some paper and ink.”
Her eyes brightened with a joy he hadn’t expected. Who could possibly be excited about digging through old trunks? He certainly wasn’t, but he would enjoy some company in the task.
Once armed with paper, quills and a bottle of ink, they made the lengthy trek up to the topmost floors of the house, past the servants’ wings. Arthur navigated the old, rickety staircase to the central attic first, lest the boards break. Once convinced it was safe, he waved Matilda to follow him up. A single small window allowed light into the dusty space.
“Right…” he muttered as he put his hands on his hips and studied the space, trying to figure out where to begin.
“Perhaps we should start at one end and work our way across?” Matilda suggested.
“Fair enough.” He dragged a large trunk toward her and then picked her up and set her down on the closed lid. She squeaked in surprise at being manhandled by him, which made him chuckle. He settled the paper and ink in her lap.
“You record the inventory. I will call out what I find.”
She daintily wiped dust off the trunk and settled, then set her bottle of ink down and dipped her quill into it.
“I’m ready.”
