He gave her white sauce a stir, then went to rummage in the fridge. He came up with juice, which he poured into a glass and pushed into her hands.
“Imbibe.”
She drank, but it didn’t seem to be doing her any good. He took the glass away from her and set it on the worktable before she dropped it, then looked at her assessingly.
“Want me to go play lord of the castle?” he asked.
She looked momentarily horrified. “Ah—”
“I wouldn’t snarl at them,” he offered.
Her look of skepticism was priceless. He smiled to himself as he turned back to the stove.
“I’ll confine myself to the kitchens for the moment,” he promised. “If that will make you feel better.”
“It will,” she agreed, “because I very much need these people to leave happy. And the beef needs to come out in ten minutes.”
“I have a watch.”
She walked over to stand next to him, then reached out to give her sauce one last stir. Her hands were trembling, but he pretended not to notice.
“The veg is in the steamer and the bread warming in the back there,” she said, her voice suffering from the same affliction as her hands. “I’ll come back and put it together if you can keep it from burning.”
“I think I can manage it.”
She was silent long enough that he felt compelled to look at her. She was watching him gravely.
“I’m not trying to insult you,” she said quietly.
He smiled grimly. “You don’t have to like me, Miss Alexander.”
“Maybe not, but I can be appreciative of your efforts. Which I am. Very.”
He nodded over his shoulder at the passageway that wound up to the great hall. “Go see to your guests. I’ll keep your supper from going up in flames, and I won’t corrupt your staff.”
“I’d appreciate that.”
“I imagined you would.”
She took a deep breath and walked away. He knew he shouldn’t have, but he couldn’t stop himself from turning a bit to watch her leave the kitchen.
He heartily wished he hadn’t.
She pulled her hair free of her chignon and it fell in a cascade of irrepressible curls halfway down her back before she expertly caught it back up at the back of her head. She put her shoulders back and marched up the passageway, all business in a black skirt and sweater.
He turned back to his sauce before he looked any longer where he shouldn’t have. Truly, he wasn’t interested in her or her life or what she thought of living in a castle when she likely could have sold the thing and bought herself a quite comfortable country home. Perhaps she was a glutton for punishment. Perhaps she was another of those unrealistic souls who thought medieval times to be quite romantic.
Perhaps she was just a lovely woman doing the best she could with what she’d been given.
He supposed it would be wise not to speculate. He checked his watch, continued to stir, then followed Tess’s instructions about removing things from the heat. He happily let her take over when she returned, did what she asked, then stood with her as the kitchen gels began to carry in supper. Tess watched the last one leave, then looked at his case in the corner for a moment before she looked up at him.
“Is that a guitar?” she asked finally.
He took a deep breath. “A lute, actually.”
She closed her eyes briefly. “I’m not quite sure how to thank you.”
He bit his tongue around an offhand remark about rescues and their limited number where she was concerned and instead settled for a nod. He walked over and took his lute out of its case, just to give himself something to do. He finally turned to look at her, because he couldn’t put it off any longer. She was watching him guardedly, as if she thought he might just turn and bolt if she weren’t careful.
A wise woman, that one.
“Is there a chair by the fire?” he asked.
“I’ll find one.”
“I’ll fetch it,” he said. “You hold this.”
“I’m not sure I dare.”
The truth was, he wasn’t sure he wanted her to dare. She looked almost as unsettled as he felt. If she were going to drop something, ’twas better that she drop a chair. He looked at the stove a last time to make certain everything was off the fire, then nodded toward the passageway.
“I need something without arms,” he said. “I’ll just provide atmosphere, unless you’ve something else in mind.”
“Would you sing?” she asked faintly.
“Only if your diners have been excessively courteous to you so far.”
“Background music it is, then.” She shot him a look. “Please be polite.”
“Why would you think I would be anything else?” he grumbled, but she had already started for the passageway and perhaps hadn’t heard him.
He caught up to her in a pair of strides, then contented himself with walking alongside her up the way to the great hall. In the end, he fetched his own chair, then set it next to the fire. He rolled down his sleeves, sat, then shrugged aside the unease he felt over playing things that spoke too loudly about what he was. Rich, spoiled Londoners were annoyances, not dangers. They likely wouldn’t remember him or his music, so there was no reason not to simply play what he liked. With that in mind, he started at the beginning of his repertoire and worked his way through it to the last.
And whilst he did, he watched the goings-on in the hall. He didn’t want to, but he unfortunately had a very good memory and didn’t have to concentrate on what he was playing.
Tess’s guests were miserable louts, every last one of them. The women were the worst, looking down their noses at their meals and rolling their eyes at their surroundings, which even John had to admit were spectacular. Whoever had restored Sedgwick had done a smashing job. The men were less conceited than the ladies, but just as critical. John would have thought his contributions to the evening to be of no worth at all if he hadn’t caught out of the corner of his eye the looks he was having from a pair of the trio of women.
He suppressed the urge to send back looks of disdain. After all, he’d promised he would behave.
Tess endured it all with absolutely no taking of the bait being offered. He had to admit he was impressed. He wouldn’t have managed it for ten minutes, much less three hours.