“Well then, I believe there is no cause for concern then.”
She pointed toward the door leading outside. “But it was in a cage. What are the plans for Drusilla? Are we to eat her?”
I glanced up at the cook then back down at Emma. There was no point lying to the child. I did not believe lying was a healthy habit, even if it was to protect their innocence. Not with something like this. “Yes, I do believe Drusilla was on this evening’s menu.”
Emma covered her mouth with both her hands and gasped loudly.
“However, it seems you have taken a liking to… Drusilla, so I see no reason why we can’t change the main course for the evening and allow Drusilla another chance at life.”
“Oh, thank you, Ashington. I promise Drusilla will be an excellent pet.”
“Chickens are not pets, Emma,” Alice informed her as she came over to take the child’s hand. I was grateful for her interruption because I had not intended for Emma to assume Drusilla was to become a pet. Just that we would refrain from making her our meal, tonight. I wasn’t sure on how to proceed with the future of the animal after that point.
“And why not?” Emma asked with indignation.
Alice gave her a tug and led her toward the door. “I will not discuss this further, Lady Emma. It is well past time for your breakfast. Come now,” she ordered as they left through the back door.
Once she was gone, there was an audible sigh amongst the kitchen staff. They all began cleaning up the feathers and other forms of chaos the chicken and Emma left in their wake. I turned and left the room, unsure what I would say to my guests upon my return. Had they heard any of that? The kitchen’s location was far enough that much of it should have been muffled, but the loud squeals had surely carried down the hallway.
Bringing Emma had been asking for such as this but leaving her in London was too much of a risk. I had much rather deal with this sort of situation than chance Nicholas finding out about her existence. Protecting Emma was my priority as was finding her a suitable mother.
Laughter rang out from the dining room as I drew closer and I stopped just shy of the entrance to listen to Miriam telling her aunt and uncle about the time she had first tried to cook breakfast for her family.
“I was washing flour out of my hair for weeks,” Miriam finished and her audience chuckled.
“But how did the biscuits taste?” her aunt asked.
“I do believe mother broke a tooth on one,” Miriam informed her with glee.
“Oh dear,” her aunt laughed.
“Yes, twas quite a learning experience for me. I appreciate a good soft biscuit ever so much these days,” Miriam quipped.
I found myself smiling at the easy banter and familiarity Miriam shared with her aunt and uncle. There was no stiff formality or hushed whispers about the ruckus they had obviously heard when I had rushed out. They took it in stride and carried on with their breakfast. Miriam Bathurst may not be what one would consider the perfect countess, but she may indeed be my perfect countess. Emma needed someone who wouldn’t feel faint after an event like the one I just dealt with.
I turned the corner and entered the room. Miriam was sipping her cup of hot chocolate and her eyes seemed to brighten when she spotted me. That was a nice reaction a man could get used to. “Lord Ashington, you just missed the tale of my unique culinary achievements,” she informed me, causing her aunt to giggle once more.
“Perhaps you can share them with me another time then. I was unaware of your abilities in the kitchen,” I replied, taking my seat.
Her aunt laughed loudly this time and I couldn’t help but smile at the boisterous sound.
“Please, my lord, do not get your hopes up. I fear you will be greatly disappointed,” Lady Wellington said with a grin.
“Unless of course you have a tooth that needs extracting,” Lord Wellington added and the three of them burst into fits of laughter. This house had heard very little laughter and it was as if the walls wanted to soak it in or perhaps that was just me.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Miriam Bathurst
The peacefulness of the countryside was like a long-lost friend. I gazed admiringly outside the window of Whitney’s room while she ate her breakfast. Soon, we would go out and enjoy the warmth of the sun.
Whitney had slept much later than the rest of us and missed breakfast in the dining room. Ashington had asked me what to have sent to her room for her and in doing so earned even more of my gratitude. I knew she would be disappointed she had missed the lively breakfast, but I would be sure to give her every detail when she was ready.
I heard her yawn behind me and turned to see her cover her small mouth with a dainty hand. “Did you not sleep well?” I asked her, concerned for her obvious fatigue.
“I slept fine. I believe I may have slept too much,” she replied with a smile. “This bed is much too comfortable and it pulled me into the deepest of sleeps.”
The much too pale pallor of her skin and the dark circles under her eyes told a different story than what she had claimed. Whitney never wanted to worry me, yet I could see she wasn’t feeling well. The travel had been too much on her.
I moved my attention to the food that had been brought up for her. She had eaten a biscuit and some ham. Whitney had never been much of an eater, but she needed proper nourishment after such an arduous journey. I wanted her to have energy to enjoy our time here.
“Tell me what you meant by a lively meal indeed,” Whitney urged as she picked up a berry from her plate.
I shared everything with Whitney, taking great care to be very detailed in hopes she would eat more of the food on her plate. Instead, she had finished her berry and then leaned back on the pillows of her bed as if the task of eating required more rest. My concern for her was mounting, and I had convinced myself to speak to Ashington about seeking a doctor once I left this room.
Once I finished telling her of our morning, she yawned again and settled deeper into her pillows. “Oh, I do hate I missed that. I shall be on time tomorrow, but you must promise it will be just as entertaining.” Her smile wasn’t forced, but it was tired.
Standing, I walked over and pulled the covers over her gently. “The travel has exhausted you and rest is the only cure. We shall frolic in the garden later today when you are well and good. Right now, you need to take care.” I said all of this in my stern voice that left no room for argument. It was a habit with Whitney since oft times she could be stubborn.
“I believe you’re right. Just a bit more rest would do me well,” she agreed, only alarming me further. I had used my stern voice to keep her from disagreeing with me, yet her lack of argument did not sit well with me. For Whitney to want to stay in bed, it meant she did not feel well at all.
Kissing her on the head, I gave her one last glance to see she had already closed her eyes. As quietly as I could, I left her room in search of Ashington. Since I was on a mission, my focus was more clear and finding Ashington’s office was easier than the idea of finding the dining room this morning had felt.
It had only taken me three wrong doors before I opened the correct one. However, Ashington had not been in there. The office had been quite empty. Frustrated, I closed the door back the way it had been and went off in search of someone who might know of his whereabouts.