Collins held up a brown paper bag, which must be testament to some errand they had run. “As you promised. Want some?” He grinned. “Telford will never know there’s any missing.”
Mam chuckled but shook her head. “I’ve never been one for toffee. But Mr. Dawe says Logan makes the best in England, and my husband’s sweet tooth can certainly be trusted.”
Collins grunted another laugh and tossed the bag on the table. “I’ve yet to meet anyone whose sweet tooth rivaled his lordship’s. I swear I’ve visited every sweet shop in the country for him.”
“Quite a hardship for you.” Ainsley smiled, too, and pulled out a chair at the table. He was the elder of the valets, clearly, but she couldn’t tell by how much. She guessed him to be in his mid-thirties, but Collins’s age was harder to pinpoint. With his round face and smooth skin, he could have been anywhere from twenty to thirty.
Collins peeked into the pan Mam was tapping the air from. “That smells good. Almond?”
“Mm. Our lady mentioned her brother favors it.”
“Along with any other cake. The true test . . .” He stole the mixing bowl from the workbench and ran a finger along that single line of batter. Made a happy noise. “It’ll do.”
Ainsley shook his head and reached for a few of the pea pods still awaiting their turn.
Senara’s eyes went wide. “Oh, you needn’t do that. I’ll be finished in no time.”
He turned his eyes, dark and calm, on her. “I don’t mind. Reminds me of my own mother’s kitchen, and happy hours spent there.” With a well-trained motion, he opened the shell and poured the peas into his palm.
Senara moved the wooden bowl from her lap to the table so he could drop them in and then repositioned her chair to face it. She ought to say something. Ask some simple, polite question that could show her a sliver of his mind. How did he like serving Lord Sheridan? Or what did he think of the Scillies?
But his steady gaze weighed her down like an anchor, and he spoke before she could. “Your father mentioned you’ve been a governess for the last decade.”
She studied her next pea pod instead of his face and simply nodded. The loss of that identity was still so very fresh that she didn’t quite know how to respond.
“For what family? Perhaps I know of them.”
Oh, she prayed not—but wouldn’t that be just her luck? She cleared her throat. “The Cliffords—the baron and his wife have three beautiful daughters.”
Her fingers curled up at the mention of them. She ought to be tidying braids and tying pinafores, coaching eager little faces on what greeting they ought to give their mother when she came to spend her hour with them before she left for whatever calls she’d make that day.
“The Cliffords.” Ainsley said the name slowly, thoughtfully. Dropped three more peas into the bowl. “Was the baroness a Griffith? Welsh?”
She gave a tight nod. The aristocracy was frightfully small—perhaps there was a connection between them and his employer. Perhaps she’d seen him in passing at some event or house party and that was why his name and face rang distant bells of memory.
He didn’t smile—she peeked to see—but he didn’t frown either. Just regarded her evenly. “They were summering together, weren’t they? The Griffiths and Cliffords? My cousin mentioned it.”
She lifted her face again. “Your cousin?”
“Mr. Griffith’s valet—Rory Smithfield. Perhaps you met him.”
A smile bloomed on her lips. That was it! Rory had mentioned his cousin a few times. That’s why his name was familiar. And the two cousins bore a few features in common—not enough that their relation was obvious at a glance, but certainly enough to account for why she’d noticed it “Oh, Rory! Yes, of course. Everyone at Cliffenwelle loves him.”
How could they not? He was bright and cheerful, handsome and smart. Charming and cunning. All the staff looked forward to the Griffiths coming for every holiday and the whole summer, largely because it meant Smithfield would be there—entertaining all the fellows, flirting with all the maids.
How had she ever been lucky enough to be the one to snag his attention?
She felt Ainsley’s gaze on her for another long moment. No doubt her affection for his cousin had come through in that explanation. Usually, she’d have made more of an attempt to keep her attachments guarded, but why bother now?
Besides, this was the cousin who Rory had spent Christmas with, wasn’t it? At his employer’s castle—that must be Lord Sheridan’s home. They must be close. Getting to know Ainsley would be like seeing a new side of Rory—and wouldn’t he be pleased when he showed up and saw that his cousin was here too? What were the chances?
Perhaps he’d even mentioned her at Christmas. Perhaps he’d written to his family of her. Perhaps Ainsley had thought her name sounded familiar when her parents mentioned her and now would laugh and put all the pieces together too.
He reached for more peas and angled a few degrees away. “Do you know when I ought to expect his lordship back, Mrs. Dawe? If he’s been hiking over heather in that fog of this morning, he’ll be wet and muddy when he returns and in need of a hot bath.”
Or perhaps men didn’t gush about their love interests in letters to each other as girls did. Heat stung her cheeks at her own foolishness.
Collins dropped into the chair beside Ainsley’s. “And of an eighth pair of shoes for the day?”
“Now, Collins. Only the third. Thus far.” Amusement laced his tone, where she’d have expected complaint. Rory, though cheerful, had certainly painted quite the picture of the excesses of his employer, and for good reason. Every outing of the masters meant more work for the servants—brushing and cleaning and mending—while the family swept on to the next game or meal or engagement.
Mam slid the cake pan into the heated oven. “Gracious, that’s hard to say. It all depends on how long they’re exploring. Our Beth can spend all day peering into nooks and crannies sometimes. Other times, she’s back by noon.”
Ainsley chuckled. “Well do I understand that. Lord Sheridan always has some excavation or another underway in the neighborhood, and there are days we’re out from dawn to dusk. And then there are the times he travels in pursuit of some theory or discovery and we get to live in a tent if there isn’t a reputable inn or hotel nearby. Always great fun, that.”
Senara pressed her lips together. She had to admit she couldn’t imagine the man beside her living in such quarters. “Just the two of you?”
“And his sisters. They’re an invaluable part of his team.” Another smile danced over his mouth. “They’ll be cross if they find he’s got caught up in another adventure here without consulting them. They always swear he makes a mess of everything on his own—and they may have a point. But you must have a knack for organizing children, Miss Dawe. Perhaps we can call on you for the role Ladies Abbie and Millicent usually play.”
Her fingers stilled on the next pod. He was inviting her into their business? Perhaps Rory had mentioned her, and this was Ainsley’s way of getting to know his cousin’s chosen wife. Perhaps he wanted to sound her out before giving his approval. Hadn’t Rory mentioned that his cousin was a bit too prim and proper? No doubt the sort, then, to want to form a sound judgment of her.