Chapter 4

Sullivan looked at him in sympathy. "She has just realised that she has been unguarded near you, and she is embarrassed."

"I do not understand why." She had been so open and relaxed while they were working together. Michael had been surprised at the change in her, and he had responded to her in a way he had not expected to. That was a situation to be mulled over. As for her injuries, he had seen how she struggled to sit on the floor of the stable. Then, judging by the way she had handled the lamb, her arm was clearly damaged. Her facial scars were extensive, but he wondered why she hid her face so much. They could not be classed as grotesque, but she acted as if they were.

"She is full of shame at the way she looks and hates the thought of anyone pitying her."

"I do not pretend to understand what she has suffered, but she should never feel anything but the right to be treated just like anyone else."

"It is to your credit that you think that way, but believe me, she has been treated ill, especially immediately after the accident when she was at her most vulnerable."

Michael shook his head. "I had better go and find who this ewe belongs to." He set off still in his dirty clothes. There was no point in getting changed until he had returned the ewe to its owner, and then he had to make himself presentable before supper. He was under no doubt that Arabella would be cursing Grace for inviting him and would not be surprised to find the invitation rescinded. He hoped it was not, but it was too much to hope that he would be faced with the friendly, unencumbered Arabella he had seen for the first time today. A pity for she had been endearing and more.

***

Michael entered the kitchen, interrupting a conversation between Sullivan and Mrs Johnson. The cook looked anything but pleased to see him walking through her spotlessly clean kitchen looking like he had been rolling in hay and worse, which was a fair assessment.

He smiled ruefully. "Just pretend I am not here."

"I can hardly do that when there is a trail of dirty footprints behind you." Mrs Johnson scowled.

"I promise to clean them up when I am changed."

"Could I suggest, Mr Follett, that you return to the scullery, and I supply water and clean clothing?" Sullivan said, clearly disliking the thought of Michael walking through the rest of the house as much as Mrs Johnson did in her kitchen.

"Yes, I suppose that would be the best thing to do," Michael said, beating a retreat.

Mrs Johnson put a large kettle of water over the fire while Sullivan disappeared upstairs.

"Were you discussing the delights we are to eat tonight?" Michael had moved to the doorway leading to the kitchen corridor. He had heard something as he entered the kitchen which had piqued his curiosity.

"Yes," Mrs Johnson said, clearly uncomfortable.

"Do you object to my being invited above stairs?"

"No!" Mrs Johnson responded heatedly and then sighed. "I was discussing what could be served to Miss Arabella that would not cause her embarrassment in front of you."

"The term embarrassment keeps being bandied about, and I do not know why. Why on earth could my being at the table cause her to feel such a way? I have seen her scars. I have even sat on the floor with her. Why would eating with her cause further shame?"

"You saw her struggle with her arm?"

"Of course, and her leg."

"Then it will come as no surprise to know that she finds it difficult to hold a knife and use it. She can handle it to push food onto her fork, but when it comes to cutting meat like steak or anything containing bones, well, she can't do it."

"Oh, bloody hell," Michael said, nearly rubbing his hand through his hair before remembering that would not be the best of ideas.

"Exactly."

"You were discussing what she could deal with in front of me."

"Yes, but if she finds out that the conversation has taken place…"

"I am offended that you would consider me so callous and unfeeling to even consider mentioning such a thing."

"We are still getting to know you," Mrs Johnson defended herself with a look that forbade any challenge.

"But you should have asked me about it, for I have the perfect solution."

"Oh?"

"It is easy. Just cut up the meat or anything she will struggle with before it reaches us."

"Sullivan usually cuts it up for her on the side table in the dining room."

Michael winced at the thought. "She has to sit, knowing that her butler is cutting her food up as if she is a child? Good grief, no wonder she is mortified."

"Better that than watch her struggle. We have cared for her since she was born, so do not suggest that we don't have her best interests at heart."

"I think quite the opposite," Michael said with a smile, not acknowledging that he actually thought they had indulged her too much. "What I am suggesting is that the meat is cut up here in the kitchen for all guests; you could even make it into a feature of some sort."

"Oh I could, could I?"

"Now don't you go giving me daggers, I can tell that you think it is a good idea. We all have our meat in the same way that Miss Betez needs. I know your talents are more than capable of meeting the challenge."

"I knew you were a sweet-talker the moment you walked into my kitchen," Mrs Johnson huffed. "But I will give you your due, you could be right in this instance. I will see what I can do."

Michael laughed at the compliment. "If I wasn't so dirty and smelly, I would come across there and kiss you."

"You keep away, you young rascal," Mrs Johnson said, taking the kettle off the fire and pouring the water into a large pewter bowl. "Now be off with you. My kitchen smells enough like a farmyard to send me into spasms."

***

Still thinking his body held the faint odour of his adventures with the sheep, it was with a little apprehension that he entered the drawing room that evening.

Arabella was not standing at her usual spot by the window, but she was seated so that he could not see her injured side. He sighed quietly. She was clearly still not comfortable with him. After what they had already shared, he was not sure what it would take for to relax around him.

Grace smiled in welcome. "I have been hearing all about your adventures of the morning; it sounds like you both did very well."

"It was a good partnership." Michael smiled. "I am sorry to report that the whole family have been returned to their owner," he said to Arabella. "Mother and babies are well settled and are very happy."

"Oh, I would have liked to have seen them before they went," Arabella said, meeting his gaze for the first time since he had entered the room.

"They belong to Ted Corless. He said you would be welcome to visit any time you like. He loved that you had helped to feed the lambs. I think it made him feel very important that the mistress had helped his animals."

Arabella turned away. "I was glad to help."

Michael was going to say that he knew she had no intention of visiting, which could cause offence to the farmer, but he held his counsel. He received a knowing look from Grace and felt himself gritting his teeth. She needed to visit her tenants; they were her biggest supporters, but she did not seem to realise that.

Sullivan announced that supper was ready, and they walked informally into the dining room. Arabella sat at the head of the table, Grace on her right side and Michael to her left. Of course, she was still trying to hide her scars.

Michael was not sure why it bothered him that she felt the need to hide, but it did. As the dishes were already on the table, Sullivan uncovered them when they were seated. Michael saw what Mrs Johnson had done with the meat, and he silently congratulated her.

The dish containing pheasant had been decorated with the feathers surrounding the meat, which had been stripped and chopped into small pieces. There were florets of broccoli placed between the meat cubes, giving the dish some interest. There was haddock, sliced and de-boned, on a plate looking like a whole fish, but it was clear it had been cut into manageable pieces. Other dishes were as they would normally be served, soups, potatoes, syllabub and jelly, but the final dish was a delight to look at. Pigeons were extremely fiddly to eat, but Mrs Johnson had created a display of a bird cage with models of pigeons while the actual meat was in decoration around the plate.

Arabella looked at the dishes and then at Sullivan in confusion. "Mrs Johnson has excelled herself tonight. Please tell her that it all looks wonderful."

"I will, miss, but it was Mr Follett who stirred her up to challenge her creativity. I am glad you agree that she has excelled herself."

Arabella raised her eyes to Michael. "Was our menu not spectacular enough for your tastes?"

Michael laughed, himself embarrassed now. "I would never act so gauche; of course it is good enough. Mrs Johnson is an amazing cook. We were having a larger conversation, and I teased her into a challenge."

Looking suspiciously at him, Arabella started to load her plate. Grace had watched the exchange and smiled at Michael. "This is a delightful way of serving, so much easier. I do not know what you said to Mrs Johnson, but this is marvellous." Michael and Sullivan shared a conspiratorial look, but nothing else was mentioned about the food.

"Tell us about where you come from," Grace said as they ate.

"There is not a lot to tell," Michael said. "I was brought up in Hampshire and began work almost as soon as I could follow my father around."

"He was a steward too?"

"Yes, he still is, as was my grandfather. It was inevitable that I would follow in their footsteps."

"It is nice when there is a connection between generations," Grace continued.

"I was especially fortunate that an uncle who had no children of his own paid for an education that my parents could never have afforded. It enabled me to apply for more prestigious positions than I would have done just learning through my father."

"How does it affect the type of position?" Arabella spoke for the first time since they had begun to eat.

"I was taught things like dealing with finances. Some stewards are not able to deal with the financial side of running an estate, though they learn on the job as my father did. I also was taught practical tasks which would help me with regards to checking work and even being able to carry out some tasks myself when needed. It was not the usual educational establishment, but we did learn our lessons too."

"Sounds very useful," Grace said.

"It was hard work, but I think it was worth it," Michael said.

"My uncle thinks so," Arabella chipped in.

"I hope you will come to realise that I am here to help. I am certainly not your enemy." There was a gentleness to his tone, but he saw that he had pushed too far when her shoulders stiffened. Luckily for him, Grace stepped in.

"Where did you learn about farm life?"

"That was through practical experience. I have delivered a lamb or two in my time."

"A fortunate thing that you could, as I could not imagine Sullivan crawling over the stable floor to help," Grace said with a smile at the butler.

"Shudder at the thought," Sullivan responded.

Arabella smiled at her servant. "You would never allow yourself to be sullied the way Mr Follett was."

"And yourself, if we are being honest," Michael said.

Arabella looked at him. "That is not very gentlemanlike."

"But I am a mere servant, surely never to be mistaken as a gentleman?"

"Would you not wish to aspire to be one?"

Michael was curious about the question but answered with a smile. "I think the others around me would have more of a problem than I would if I tried to leave the sphere I was born into. I get the impression that the ton like to put people into their own little boxes. I know there is derision towards ‘cits', so I dare not think how they would react to servants trying to break into their ranks."

"In many cases, we are surrounded by fools," Grace said. "That those are usually the ones who have money and influence does no one any good."

"I cannot disagree with that," Michael said. "You think I have the potential to be a gentleman?" he asked Arabella.

"I have no idea. I was just curious to know what your future intentions are."

"To do a good job here."

"And you have not thought beyond that, though I have told you that the moment I reach my birthday and gain control of my fortune and estate, I will be sending you back to my uncle?"

"You have been quite clear with your opinion of my being here. That does not mean I will not do as good a job as I can. You never know, when I leave, you might even be tempted to give me a good reference."

Arabella smiled, making Michael inordinately pleased. "You are very confident of your abilities."

"I am." He did not utter that he wished he could pass on some of his confidence to her.