past
and she had been polite but never very inviting, so he'd wondered
why he'd even bothered. He didn't anymore.
'Would you…
what would you like to drink, Pembrake?'
He frowned
again, leaning back and folding his strong arms across his chest.
He'd always had the same thing to drink, ever since he was a little
boy, but she always had to ask. 'Tea with lemon, no
sugar, no milk.'
'Very
well.'
Was it a game,
or did she always forget? She seemed to have a fantastic memory for
his misdemeanours though. Through asking what he would like to
drink it was as if she were giving him room to change his mind, as
if she really wanted him to say "Actually, I'll have a cup of 'I'm
leaving the navy' if that's alright".
The silence
stretched between them. He could even make out the continuous cry
of the gulls over the bay above the hiss of the kettle. She poured
out the water to the tea and carried two cups over to the
table.
He knew before
he'd tasted a drop that that it would be made to perfection, even
after the little game they always played where she pretended to
have forgotten his specifications. He'd travelled the length and
breadth of the world, but he had yet to have tea made precisely the
way he liked it anywhere other than in this kitchen.
She drank
deeply from her fine tea cup, and he saw that the heat brought a
warmth to her cheeks that his presence after four months away had
failed to raise in her.
He saw her
glance at him a few times and then she got to her feet and pulled
out two perfect gold-leaf plates out of a top cupboard. They were
her favourite plates. There used to be three, a gift from the King
for Mr Hunter's services as an advisor. Pembrake remembered vividly
when, as a five-year old, he'd broken the third in a rage. His
mother hadn't even shouted. She never shouted, just
cried. She would just skirt around a topic or make the tiniest bit
of headway then double back on herself with a stream of
apologies.
This is how he
knew she wouldn't just come out and ask if he was engaged.
'So I suppose
congratulations are in order.'
Pembrake
watched in surprise as, seemingly unperturbed by what his answer
would be, she disappeared under the bench and retrieved something
from a cupboard.
'You could say
that,' he kept his tone as diplomatic as possible. 'As
my mother I'm sure you're very proud.'
'Of course I
am, dear,' she walked out from behind the bench with a cheesecake
on a silver serving tray. It was topped with whipped cream,
raspberries, and shaved chocolate.
He blinked in
surprise; it was his favourite. 'I thought you said you were
surprised to see me?'
'It always
pays to be prepared. And have you had any contact with the lovely
Miss Partridge recently?' She looked at him directly suddenly, not
bothering to track the knife as she cut through the soft cake.
He grimly
played with the edge of his cuff. That had been a
strangely direct question from her. 'I-'
'Because I
heard from Madame Helway that Miss Partridge's father is keen to
have her married.' She put a slice of the cake on one of the gold
plates and pushed it towards him across the table.
'I-'
'And that
Annie, you brought over for tea last time – apparently
she's eloped.' She took a drink from her tea and regarded him
steadily over the rim.
'She has?'
'And
Pearl-'
The Captain's
daughter, he'd always had a thing for Pearl.
'She has gone
back to Pemberly City; apparently she doesn't like the weather
about these parts.' His mother sniffed slightly as she finished off
her list, having ticked or crossed out everyone she could think
of.
'Right,' he
said slowly and tried to hide his surprise by taking a sip of his
burning-hot tea.
'It's very
hot, dear.'
'Yes,' he
mumbled.
This was
strange for his mother. She had always been the meek lady who had
followed around Mr Hunter like a butterfly fluttering her beautiful
wings at his many occasions and gatherings. But more than that, it
was her need to continuously whisper a nervous warning in
and she had been polite but never very inviting, so he'd wondered
why he'd even bothered. He didn't anymore.
'Would you…
what would you like to drink, Pembrake?'
He frowned
again, leaning back and folding his strong arms across his chest.
He'd always had the same thing to drink, ever since he was a little
boy, but she always had to ask. 'Tea with lemon, no
sugar, no milk.'
'Very
well.'
Was it a game,
or did she always forget? She seemed to have a fantastic memory for
his misdemeanours though. Through asking what he would like to
drink it was as if she were giving him room to change his mind, as
if she really wanted him to say "Actually, I'll have a cup of 'I'm
leaving the navy' if that's alright".
The silence
stretched between them. He could even make out the continuous cry
of the gulls over the bay above the hiss of the kettle. She poured
out the water to the tea and carried two cups over to the
table.
He knew before
he'd tasted a drop that that it would be made to perfection, even
after the little game they always played where she pretended to
have forgotten his specifications. He'd travelled the length and
breadth of the world, but he had yet to have tea made precisely the
way he liked it anywhere other than in this kitchen.
She drank
deeply from her fine tea cup, and he saw that the heat brought a
warmth to her cheeks that his presence after four months away had
failed to raise in her.
He saw her
glance at him a few times and then she got to her feet and pulled
out two perfect gold-leaf plates out of a top cupboard. They were
her favourite plates. There used to be three, a gift from the King
for Mr Hunter's services as an advisor. Pembrake remembered vividly
when, as a five-year old, he'd broken the third in a rage. His
mother hadn't even shouted. She never shouted, just
cried. She would just skirt around a topic or make the tiniest bit
of headway then double back on herself with a stream of
apologies.
This is how he
knew she wouldn't just come out and ask if he was engaged.
'So I suppose
congratulations are in order.'
Pembrake
watched in surprise as, seemingly unperturbed by what his answer
would be, she disappeared under the bench and retrieved something
from a cupboard.
'You could say
that,' he kept his tone as diplomatic as possible. 'As
my mother I'm sure you're very proud.'
'Of course I
am, dear,' she walked out from behind the bench with a cheesecake
on a silver serving tray. It was topped with whipped cream,
raspberries, and shaved chocolate.
He blinked in
surprise; it was his favourite. 'I thought you said you were
surprised to see me?'
'It always
pays to be prepared. And have you had any contact with the lovely
Miss Partridge recently?' She looked at him directly suddenly, not
bothering to track the knife as she cut through the soft cake.
He grimly
played with the edge of his cuff. That had been a
strangely direct question from her. 'I-'
'Because I
heard from Madame Helway that Miss Partridge's father is keen to
have her married.' She put a slice of the cake on one of the gold
plates and pushed it towards him across the table.
'I-'
'And that
Annie, you brought over for tea last time – apparently
she's eloped.' She took a drink from her tea and regarded him
steadily over the rim.
'She has?'
'And
Pearl-'
The Captain's
daughter, he'd always had a thing for Pearl.
'She has gone
back to Pemberly City; apparently she doesn't like the weather
about these parts.' His mother sniffed slightly as she finished off
her list, having ticked or crossed out everyone she could think
of.
'Right,' he
said slowly and tried to hide his surprise by taking a sip of his
burning-hot tea.
'It's very
hot, dear.'
'Yes,' he
mumbled.
This was
strange for his mother. She had always been the meek lady who had
followed around Mr Hunter like a butterfly fluttering her beautiful
wings at his many occasions and gatherings. But more than that, it
was her need to continuously whisper a nervous warning in
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