slight flare of renewed hope. Perhaps, she thought, she’d gotten one thing right. Perhaps the dessert would be good and he would like it. Holding her breath, she watched him bring the fork to his lips.
When he choked on the apples, she couldn't bear it and jumped to her feet. “It's a lovely evening. I think I'll take the air.” She practically ran for the door.
***
Alexandre found her in the courtyard, sitting sideways on a stone bench, her knees drawn up to her chest. Her profile was pensive as she stared out over the crumbled stones of the wall to the setting sun.
She didn’t hear his approach, and he watched her for a long time, wishing he had his sketchbook. The vulnerability he sensed in her was never more clear than at this moment and he would have liked to capture that on paper. He also felt a sudden, unwanted desire to comfort her, a notion that made him grimace. He was starting to feel sorry for her, and that would make sending her on her way that much harder.
He stepped into the courtyard, his boot heels crunching against the loose and broken flagstones.
Tess started at the sound, and she brushed hastily at her cheek, turning her face away. “What was wrong with the apples?”
He tried to make light of it. “I don't know about you, but I prefer a bit of cinnamon with my apples, not a bit of apples with my cinnamon.”
“I used too much spice?”
“A bit.” He studied her discouraged expression. “It isn't so bad,” he added. “We could put the stuff in jars and use it for potpourri.”
Her answer was a choked sound, partly a laugh, partly a sob.
“It was only a meal, mademoiselle,” he said quietly.
She shook her head. “No, it wasn't,” she said in a hard voice. “Not for me.”
He frowned, not understanding her enigmatic remark, but he did not pursue it. He came closer, and as he did, she swung her legs over the side of the bench and scooted over, making room for him to sit beside her.
“I should not have let you do so much on only your second day out of bed,” he said. “You should have been resting.”
“I doubt rest will make me a better cook.” Her tone was wry.
He chuckled. “Perhaps not.”
They sat in silence as the sun slowly disappeared and left the courtyard in dusky twilight. Finally, it was she who broke the silence. “Now that you know I can’t cook, shall you send me away?”
His jaw tightened. He should. For his own peace of mind, he really should. “No.”
Her sigh of relief was audible. “Thank you.”
“I have two conditions,” he added, casting a sideways glance at her. She stiffened, only a slight movement, but he saw it.
“What conditions?” Her voice was low, a little wary.
“No hard work until you are feeling better, for one.”
She considered that for a moment, then nodded. “All right. But tomorrow you must show me what tasks I can do.” She took a deep breath. “And the other condition?”
He turned to face her. “I do the cooking.”
Her teeth flashed white in the dusk of evening as she smiled. “That would hardly be fair. If you are employing me as a cook and housekeeper, I should do the cooking, too. I want to earn my keep.”
He considered her words. He really didn't care what tasks she did or didn't do, but he knew that for the sake of her pride, it was important to her. “Very well.” He paused, then added, “Tomorrow I will begin teaching you how to cook.”
“You will?”
He rose to his feet. “If I don't, I fear we'll both starve.”
Chapter Five
When Tess awoke the next morning, she found a bucket of fresh water and a silver-backed mirror and brush outside her door. Beside them was an untidy pile of dresses, underclothes, and shoes. She smiled down at the collection of things Dumond had left at her door, for it was a sure sign he was letting her stay.
She shed the blue muslin dress she'd been wearing the past two days, bathed, and brushed her hair. Then she donned fresh underclothes and a
When he choked on the apples, she couldn't bear it and jumped to her feet. “It's a lovely evening. I think I'll take the air.” She practically ran for the door.
***
Alexandre found her in the courtyard, sitting sideways on a stone bench, her knees drawn up to her chest. Her profile was pensive as she stared out over the crumbled stones of the wall to the setting sun.
She didn’t hear his approach, and he watched her for a long time, wishing he had his sketchbook. The vulnerability he sensed in her was never more clear than at this moment and he would have liked to capture that on paper. He also felt a sudden, unwanted desire to comfort her, a notion that made him grimace. He was starting to feel sorry for her, and that would make sending her on her way that much harder.
He stepped into the courtyard, his boot heels crunching against the loose and broken flagstones.
Tess started at the sound, and she brushed hastily at her cheek, turning her face away. “What was wrong with the apples?”
He tried to make light of it. “I don't know about you, but I prefer a bit of cinnamon with my apples, not a bit of apples with my cinnamon.”
“I used too much spice?”
“A bit.” He studied her discouraged expression. “It isn't so bad,” he added. “We could put the stuff in jars and use it for potpourri.”
Her answer was a choked sound, partly a laugh, partly a sob.
“It was only a meal, mademoiselle,” he said quietly.
She shook her head. “No, it wasn't,” she said in a hard voice. “Not for me.”
He frowned, not understanding her enigmatic remark, but he did not pursue it. He came closer, and as he did, she swung her legs over the side of the bench and scooted over, making room for him to sit beside her.
“I should not have let you do so much on only your second day out of bed,” he said. “You should have been resting.”
“I doubt rest will make me a better cook.” Her tone was wry.
He chuckled. “Perhaps not.”
They sat in silence as the sun slowly disappeared and left the courtyard in dusky twilight. Finally, it was she who broke the silence. “Now that you know I can’t cook, shall you send me away?”
His jaw tightened. He should. For his own peace of mind, he really should. “No.”
Her sigh of relief was audible. “Thank you.”
“I have two conditions,” he added, casting a sideways glance at her. She stiffened, only a slight movement, but he saw it.
“What conditions?” Her voice was low, a little wary.
“No hard work until you are feeling better, for one.”
She considered that for a moment, then nodded. “All right. But tomorrow you must show me what tasks I can do.” She took a deep breath. “And the other condition?”
He turned to face her. “I do the cooking.”
Her teeth flashed white in the dusk of evening as she smiled. “That would hardly be fair. If you are employing me as a cook and housekeeper, I should do the cooking, too. I want to earn my keep.”
He considered her words. He really didn't care what tasks she did or didn't do, but he knew that for the sake of her pride, it was important to her. “Very well.” He paused, then added, “Tomorrow I will begin teaching you how to cook.”
“You will?”
He rose to his feet. “If I don't, I fear we'll both starve.”
Chapter Five
When Tess awoke the next morning, she found a bucket of fresh water and a silver-backed mirror and brush outside her door. Beside them was an untidy pile of dresses, underclothes, and shoes. She smiled down at the collection of things Dumond had left at her door, for it was a sure sign he was letting her stay.
She shed the blue muslin dress she'd been wearing the past two days, bathed, and brushed her hair. Then she donned fresh underclothes and a
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