The Highborn Housekeeper. Sarah Mallory

found Nancy in the kitchen. She was absorbed in stirring the contents of a copper pan on the stove and did not notice him come in, which gave him time to study her. She wore a linen pinafore wrapped around her over her gown, a cheerful yellow muslin with a frilled hem that was more suited to a London salon than a country kitchen, but its bright colour reminded Gabriel of spring flowers. It suited her, too, the yellow contrasting well with the deep rich brown of her hair. She had swept it up hurriedly out of the way and small dark curls framed her face. Several glossy tendrils had escaped at the back, drawing his attention to the elegant neck rising from the low-cut bodice.

      For a moment he considered stealing silently up to her, slipping his arms about the dainty waist and dropping a kiss upon the soft skin of her shoulder, but common sense prevailed. She was stirring a boiling pot and he was not at all sure that she wouldn’t throw the contents over him if he took such a liberty. He decided it would be safer to cough to attract her attention.

      ‘Oh. Good morning, Mr Shaw.’

      She turned from her task, not a whit embarrassed to be discovered at her work. Her eyes appraised him and he was not sure if she approved of what she saw. He felt a flicker of apprehension and laughed at himself. By heaven, he could not be such a coxcomb that he needed a woman’s approval!

      ‘You look better,’ she said at last. ‘I trust you are feeling better?’

      ‘Very much so, madam, thanks in part to an excellent meal last night.’ He walked further into the room. The air was warm and deliciously scented with spices and vanilla. ‘John has gone out and I came in search of coffee. To make it,’ he added quickly. ‘I do not expect you or Mrs Yelland to wait upon me.’

      He was rewarded by a wide smile.

      ‘How wise of you. As you see, I am busy and Hester is in an outhouse, plucking one of the older hens for the pot. There is some hot water in the kettle, it will not take long to boil, and you will find coffee and the pot over there on the shelves.’

      She moved aside to allow him to reach the kettle, but concentrated on her saucepan while he busied himself making coffee. They did not speak, but Gabriel thought it felt pleasantly companionable.

      ‘May I offer you a coffee, too, Mrs Hopwood?’

      ‘Why, thank you, yes. I am just finishing the custard pudding for tonight’s dinner; it should thicken in a few moments, then I can put it on the marble slab in the larder to cool.’ She paused, lifted the spoon to check the consistency, then continued with her stirring. ‘The morning room fire had not been lit when I went in there earlier, so I suggest that we drink it here. This is by far the warmest room in the house at present.’ She looked up suddenly, frowning. ‘Apart from your bedchamber. I gave instructions that the fire should be kept in all night.’

      ‘And it has been,’ he assured her, ‘but now I am recovered, I dare not invite you to join me there to drink coffee.’

      ‘Or for anything else.’

      ‘No, of course. Not on such a short acquaintance.’

      He knew he was being provocative and he wondered if she would take offence. Instead she laughed at him. It was a happy sound, loud and full-throated. Infectious, he thought, smiling inwardly. Joyous.

      ‘Indeed not.’ She gave her custard a final stir and lifted it from the stove. ‘Pray, take the coffee to the table, sir, and we can enjoy it here. I believe there are some biscuits somewhere that Hester baked yesterday.’

      She took the saucepan to the larder and returned a few moments later carrying a small jar. When she opened it, the smell of lemons wafted into the air.

      ‘I commend your previous housekeeper, Mr Shaw. She left the larder very well stocked. Even preserved fruits. I find it very unusual,’ she continued, as he took a biscuit, ‘to have a house with no servants. Did you turn them all off?’

      ‘Not at all. The family that lived here did not wish to renew their lease and moved out at Michaelmas. I knew I might need a retreat and had the house furnished with all the necessities. Including a well-stocked larder. That was vital, with winter approaching.’

      ‘It is your house, then?’

      ‘Most assuredly it is my house. I purchased it only this summer.’

      ‘And you prefer to live here with no staff.’

      ‘I do.’

      ‘But you are a gentleman. You must be accustomed to having servants. A cook, housekeeper.’

      Her dark eyes were fixed upon his face, intense, questioning. He gave a little shrug and said lightly, ‘The needs of a bachelor are far simpler than those of a married man, madam.’ She gave a tiny hiss of exasperation and he laughed. ‘The truth is that Thoresby and I spent some time in the army. We are perfectly capable of looking after ourselves, Mrs Hopwood.’ She looked so frankly disbelieving that he laughed. ‘Very well, on this occasion your help was very much appreciated.’

      ‘Grudgingly appreciated would be more accurate.’

      ‘Was I unpardonably rude to you?’

      ‘Outrageously so.’

      ‘I shall blame it upon the blow on the head that I received.’

      ‘Fustian! You do not like having your will crossed.’ She rested her arms on the table and leaned towards him, her plump, rounded breasts rising from her low décolletage. Desire stirred and he tried to ignore it.

      ‘I wish you will tell me why it is dangerous for me to stay here.’ She read his thoughts and blushed. ‘Apart from the obvious, of course.’

      ‘Is that not reason enough?’

      ‘I have Hester with me and, in your current state of health, I do not fear you.’

      ‘I would not have you fear me at all, madam, especially as we are snowbound here for a few more days at least. If you believe nothing else of me, believe I am a gentleman.’ He raised his brows. ‘Why do you look at me like that, do you doubt me?’

      ‘My experience of gentlemen is that they take what they want of their servants—of any woman—and damn the consequences.’

      He frowned. Not at the unladylike language but at the bitterness in her voice. He had not heard that note before and it disturbed him.

      ‘Not all gentlemen behave like that, Mrs Hopwood,’ he told her. ‘And you are not my servant.’

      ‘No, indeed.’ She gave a faint smile, her eyes softening, then she seemed to recollect herself and withdrew from him. ‘Since the snow makes it impossible for you to be rid of me for a few days, I had best get on with preparing dinner for this evening.’

      She made to rise and he put out a hand to stop her.

      ‘Not yet. Take a moment to drink your coffee.’ She sank down again and he said, ‘You are an unusual woman, Nancy Hopwood. Tell me about yourself.’

      She shrugged. ‘My story is no different from many other respectable women. I have no man to support me—and no wish for one!—and I was fortunate enough to find a position as a cook.’

      ‘And your employer, he is good man?’

      She smiled at that. ‘My employer is not a man at all, it is a charity. I work at a house in the north of England that takes in women who have no other home. There is a small farm attached where we grow what we need and sell any surplus and we all do what we can to support ourselves. Those who are good with their hands make things we can sell, such as knitted purses, or stockings. My passion is cooking, so it was natural I should take over the kitchen.’

      ‘Then what were you doing in Tuxford?’

      ‘I have been to London. On business. I was on my way back when I came across you in the wood.’ Her shoulders lifted a fraction. ‘I am not one to ignore any creature in trouble.’

      ‘Which was fortunate