AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“Smells wonderful,” she said, to which he merely nodded. “Are there any supplies we’re short on? Anything you need?”
He straightened, tall and foreboding, expressionless. For a moment, Hulda feared he wouldn’t answer her. But just as she was turning for the pantry, he said, “Butter. We will always need butter. If we get cow, I will milk her myself.”
Hulda blinked. “Noted. Anything else?”
“Is expensive import, but vanilla. And sugar, if you want dessert.” He paused. “I am very good at desserts. Especially pastries. For this we need creamandbutter. If Mr.Fernsby”—he waved his hand, trying to think of a word—“purchasesa cow, I will take care of her. I will take good care of her.”
“I will let him know you are passionate about bovines, Mr.Babineaux. If you think of anything else, please find me.” With a nod of her head, she returned to the pantry and finished logging her entries, then moved into the kitchen to finish the task. The pantry was small, so many of their foodstuffs occupied the cupboards.
“Low on flour,” she said to herself, and marked it down. She mishandled her pencil, and it toppled to the floor. As Hulda bent to retrieve it, however, she paused, an idea striking her. Straightening, she said, “Owein, dear, would you get that for me?”
A few seconds passed. Then a hole opened up in the floor beneath the pencil—nearly taking Hulda’s heel with it—and another opened in the ceiling, dropping the pencil onto the countertop.
Hulda smiled. “Thank you.” The nub had broken in the fall, but she certainly wouldn’t fault the lad for that. Indeed, he might very well earn himself a place on the staff.
A quick shuffling of the stairs had Hulda’s ears perking. Seconds later, Mr.Fernsby’s voice said, “Miss Taylor, my pen exploded. I’ve got ink all over this cravat—” He stepped into the kitchen and spied Hulda. He stopped, a crinkled cravat in his hands with a sizable black stain. “Oh. Sorry. I... thought you were Beth.”
Had Hulda not been familiar with Mr.Fernsby, she might not have picked up on the awkwardness of his tone—he did a good job at covering it with nonchalance. But she heard it, and it softened her heart. No man should have to feel out of place in his own home, and she didn’t wish for this one to feel out of place with her.
She offered him a reassuring smile. “It is hardly beneath me to soak a cravat, Mr.Fernsby. I’ve had my fair share of ink stains. They are inevitable.” She held out her hand.
He hesitated half a second. “I believe you made it very clear that you are not the maid, Mrs.Larkin.”
“Then we’d best not tell anyone I secretly wash cravats in my spare time.”
He laughed, the sound relaxing parts of her she hadn’t realized were tense. Bolstering her spirits. It was a beautiful sound, really.
He handed her the cravat, and Hulda tried and failed not to notice that Mr.Fernsby’s shirt was wide open, revealing a good triangle of his collar and chest. The peek of hair there was darker than that on his head—
Averting her eyes, Hulda set the cravat near the sink and forced her thoughts to other things before she could flush. If she did, Mr.Fernsby might misinterpret it as embarrassment related to his recent confession. “Would you like to review a menu with Mr.Babineaux? I wanted to put in a food order for the house.”
He kneaded his hands together. “Oh. Well... I don’t really have a preference. You’re welcome to decide.”
Hulda nodded and picked up a separate ledger, switching to the page marked with the week’s dates. “Then I will see about him planning the venison, since it comes so highly recommended.” She wrote downvenisonandpotatoes, before glancing up to ask Mr.Fernsby if he had—
She suddenly couldn’t remember what she was going to say. He was looking at her with... curiosity? Incredulity? Interest? She couldn’t quite tell. But it caught her off guard. She didn’t like the way it made her heart kick. She dropped her eyes to her ledger.What was I about to say?
“I was thinking,” he said, saving her from a blunder, “about what you said the other day. That you had other things to do in town. Did you visit BIKER again?”
She scrawled something else in the ledger, giving her hands something to do. “It is unnecessary for me to report so often.”
He eyed her. Voice lower, he asked, “I know it’s none of my concern, but you weren’t looking forhimagain, were you?”
Hulda opened her mouth. Closed it. Shut the ledger. “I think breakfast is ready—”
“You know you’re safe here—”
“It isn’t a matter of my safety,” she whispered, glancing toward the breakfast room. She sighed and gestured for Mr.Fernsby to follow her. If he was going to pry, he might as well do it where they were both comfortable.
In truth, the only confidant she really had was Myra, and Myra would likely dismiss her anxieties again. Because that’s what they were. Anxieties. Unreasonable thoughts. But... she liked assurances. She relied on proof. As soon as she had some, she could logically work her way out of the knot her fears had tied her into, and everything would be fine again.
The first thing she noticed upon entering the living room was that several chairs were sinking into the floor.
“Owein!” Mr.Fernsby called cheerily. “How are you this morning?”
The furniture paused midsink and flashed yellow.
“I think he’s feeling rather chipper,” he interpreted.
