Queen of my Hart - Emily Royal Page 0,25

a warm smile, which she couldn’t help return.

“What’s the soup tonight, Mrs. Brown?” the housekeeper asked.

The woman at the cauldron turned and gave an exclamation when she saw Meggie.

“Oh, it’s the mistress!”

“Mrs. Hart will be taking her supper in the kitchen,” the housekeeper said.

The cook gave Meggie a curious expression, then waved her spoon at the couple at the table.

“Milly, Ralph, be off with you. You can eat later.”

“But…” the young woman protested.

“That’s enough, Milly!” the housekeeper said. “Come and help me with the mistress’s room.”

“But I’ve been preparing it all day,” Milly protested. “Is it not ready?”

“It’s not your place to question my orders,” Mrs. Wells said. “Come on!” The young woman’s mouth turned down in a sulk, but she rose to her feet.

“And you too, Ralph,” she added. “There’s plenty you can be doing in the stables while the mistress takes her supper.

“Don’t leave on my account,” Meggie said.

He smiled. “That’s very obliging of you.”

“Ralph!” Mrs. Wells said. “It’s not your place to address the mistress in such a familiar fashion.” She turned to Meggie. “It’s best this way, ma’am,” she said. “And the master would agree if he were here.”

“But he’s not here,” Meggie said.

The housekeeper nudged the young woman. “Come on, Milly. The sooner we’ve prepared the room, the sooner you can have your supper. It smells good. What is it, Mrs. Brown?”

“Beef and vegetable broth.”

The cook ladled out two bowls of soup and placed them on the table, together with two spoons and a bread plate.

Meggie picked up the bread and dipped it in the soup. The housekeeper gave a pointed cough. Meggie’s cheeks warmed with embarrassment as she recalled her first night in London and the footman’s contempt. She picked up the spoon.

The housekeeper nodded and smiled, then exited the kitchen, followed by Milly.

“Mrs. Brown makes the best soup out of London,” Ralph said. “Probably the best in the country.”

“Oh, stop it, Ralph!” Mrs. Brown laughed. “You’re a one. No wonder Milly’s so sweet on you.”

Ralph winked at Meggie, his blue eyes shining. He reminded her of the angel at her wedding. Mr. Peyton, though Ralph was perhaps a few years younger.

He leaned forward and lowered his voice. “Now that Mrs. Wells is no longer here to admonish us, you can eat the soup how you’d like.”

“I’ll stick to the spoon,” Meggie said. “I am, after all, supposed to be mistress of the house.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Another wink.

“What do you do here, Ralph?” Meggie asked.

“I’m head groom,” he replied, dipping bread into his soup.

“Is that like an ostler?” she asked, remembering the young lad who’d tended to the horses at the Rose and Crown.

“Better,” he said. “I’m in charge of the stables.”

A snort came from the fireplace. “In charge of yourself!” Mrs. Brown said. “Unless you count the horses, who don’t answer back.”

“When the estate’s fully staffed, I’ll have at least two stableboys under me,” Ralph said.

“So, you tend to the horses?” Meggie asked. “I didn’t know there were any.”

“We have nine.”

“So many?”

“Six for the coach, plus the master’s stallion, the steward’s gelding, and a mare,” Ralph said. “Do you ride?”

“No,” Meggie said.

“I could teach you. The mare has a good temperament. She’ll do for you.”

Meggie shook her head. “I don’t think it would be proper.”

“A lady should know how to ride. Isn’t that right, Mrs. Brown?”

“Aye, lad,” the cook said. “But perhaps the master has someone in mind to teach the mistress.”

“I doubt he’s thought of it at all,” Meggie said.

Ralph and Mrs. Brown exchanged glances, and heat rose in Meggie’s cheeks. She’d spoken out of turn again. Would she ever learn what was the right or wrong thing to say?

“The soup’s delicious, Mrs. Brown,” she said.

“I do my best, ma’am.”

“You must make this when…” Meggie hesitated. How should she refer to the man who’d exiled her here? “…when the master comes.”

Another exchange of looks.

She nodded toward the window that overlooked an enclosed garden full of plants arranged in neat rows.

“Are the grounds extensive?” she asked.

“Sixty acres,” Ralph said. “Are you fond of the outdoors?”

“Oh, yes!” she replied. “I used to enjoy picnicking in the woods, back when…”

She broke off, the housekeeper’s warning ringing in her ears.

“I’m sure Mrs. Brown could arrange a picnic,” Ralph said.

“It’s not your place to make such suggestions, young man,” the cook said. “Be off with you now. You’ve finished your supper, and there’s no reason for you to be lingering around the mistress. You can take some of my bread back to your cottage.”

“Very well,” he said. The