Petra helped herself to some mutton and a slice of bread and sat down to eat in the kitchen. She would normally eat with her mistress, but Lady Blythe hadn’t invited her, and Lord Devon would wish to speak with his mother privately. She felt relieved at not having to answer his questions. Why did everyone ask after Edwin? Why were they so concerned with his future? She supposed it was a natural question to ask about a boy who was on the verge of becoming a man, but Edwin’s future was a sore subject for her, and she tended to overreact.
And she was tired. She’d spent the day seeing to menial tasks that were really Nan’s responsibility, but the girl was asleep on her feet, burning the loaves of bread and nearly setting the hem of her skirt on fire. Petra changed the linens on Lady Blythe’s bed, washed her chemise and woolen stockings, hung them to dry in front of the kitchen fire, and took out the chamber pot that Nan should have emptied out first thing in the morning, but hadn’t. She’d have to have a talk with Nan first thing tomorrow. At least the mutton wasn’t overcooked, or maybe she was just too hungry to notice. It’d been hours since the midday meal, which had been just broth and bread. Lady Blythe ate sparingly throughout the day, saving her appetite for supper, but Petra, who woke much earlier and expended more energy throughout the day, needed more food to sustain her. She looked around to make sure no one was watching and sliced off another sliver of mutton, hastily stuffing it inside the bread to make sure no one was the wiser. Lady Blythe wouldn’t miss it, but it would make a difference to Petra, who was still hungry.
Petra was grateful when it was time to go home. Her spirits were low, and she wished only for an hour with her children and her bed. She would have liked to just slip out the door, but it would be rude not to bid Lady Blythe and Lord Devon a good night. Petra knocked on the door of the parlor and entered. Lady Blythe must have retired, but Lord Devon sat by the dying fire, a cup of hippocras in his hand. He set aside the cup and rose to his feet, walking toward Petra, his expression unreadable. Perhaps he wished to reprimand her for something, or maybe just to wish her a good night. Lord Thomas took the cloak from Petra and draped it gallantly over her shoulders, fastening the clasp as he looked down at her. He wasn’t that much taller than Petra, so their faces were close, their gazes locked.
“May I walk you home?” Lord Thomas asked, taking Petra utterly by surprise.
“Really, there’s no need, lord,” Petra replied, but Lord Thomas was already donning his own cloak.
“There’s every need,” he replied. Had Robert said that, Petra would have smiled and conceded, but Thomas looked so solemn that Petra felt irrationally nervous and eager to get away from him.
They walked in silence for a few minutes, enjoying the fresh air. It smelled of coming snow and wood smoke. The sky was clear, strewn with bright stars that lit their way. All the windows were already shuttered, narrow shafts of light escaping through the cracks and striping the road. Petra could hear the sea, the waves swelling and rolling onto the beach as they’d done for eternity. The ships were nothing more than black smudges against the sky, bobbing gently and creaking like tired old men. Normally, she half-ran, frightened of being out alone, but tonight she felt safe, if not completely at ease. Petra was groping for something to say when Lord Thomas finally spoke, surprising her with the softness of his voice.
“I intended to return sooner, but stayed away once I found out my mother had given you a position in the household.”
“Why? Have I done something to offend you, lord?” Petra asked, wondering if he was about to dismiss her on his mother’s behalf. Now that he was back, he would be her companion, at least until the spring, when he would be off again, buying newly-shorn fleeces and searching for new suppliers for his ever-expanding wool empire. Robert liked to remain close to home, but Thomas, no longer encumbered by a family, enjoyed his travels and went farther afield every time in search of new prospects. Or so Lady Blythe had said.
“No, not at all,” Lord Thomas rushed to reassure her. “It’s just that I was very fond of you when you were a girl,” he said. Petra couldn’t see his expression in the darkness, but he sounded as if he were blushing with embarrassment. As well he should be, Petra thought with indignation. When she worked for Lady Blythe twelve years ago, Thomas was newly married to Lady Mildred, God rest her soul, and had no business being ‘fond’ of anyone, save his wife, no matter how uncomely or unpleasant she happened to be. Of course, Petra could hardly voice her thoughts or say anything to offend Lord Thomas, so she said the next best thing.
“And I was fond of you. And Lord Robert, of course,” she added hastily, so as not to give Thomas the wrong impression. That was pure poppycock, of course, since as a lowly servant she didn’t so much as speak to the sons of the house without being spoken to first, but what was she supposed to say? They had been kind to her, that was true, but that was just their nature, especially Robert’s. Petra never attributed their kindness to any personal feeling.
“Petra, I’ve fulfilled my duty to my family. I married a woman of their choosing and was a dutiful husband to her, despite the fact that I never grew to care for her. She’s gone now, and I’m free to follow my heart.”
Dear God, what is he talking about? Petra’s mind screamed. She moved away from him, ever so slightly, suddenly very uncomfortable with where the conversation was heading.
“I’m sure any woman would be lucky to have you,” she mumbled awkwardly.
“Would you think yourself lucky to have me?” Thomas asked.
“Lord Devon, I don’t think your mother would approve of this conversation,” Petra said, hoping he’d get the hint and be quiet, or better yet, return home and let her walk on in peace.
“I don’t much care if my mother approves. I’m a grown man, and I’ll be damned if I allow myself to be dictated to again. I will give my future wife a comfortable life, and will look after her children, if she has any,” he added, implying that the future of her children might be uppermost in Petra’s mind. It was, but she couldn’t imagine that Thomas was seriously referring to her, making the whole point moot. Perhaps he was drunk and wouldn’t remember any of this come morning, which would be the most desirable outcome, since it would spare them both awkwardness.
“That’s very kind of you, lord. Your future wife is a lucky woman,” Petra replied, hoping he’d think her obtuse and change the subject.
Thomas turned to face Petra and took her by the shoulders, forcing her to look at him. “Petra, don’t pretend to misunderstand my meaning. I’m not making you an offer of marriage, not yet, but I would like permission to pay you court. My intentions are honorable, and I would like nothing more than to show you that I can make you happy, if you give me a chance.”
“Lord Devon,” Petra began, but Thomas interrupted her.
“Please, call me Thomas. I much prefer it. There’s no need for titles between us.”
Petra nodded. He was lowering himself to her level, so as not to make her feel intimidated or beholden to him, and she appreciated his sensitivity. It would be churlish to refuse.
“Thomas, I lost my husband less than three months ago. I’m still grieving,” Petra lied. “I am flattered by your interest, but I need time,” she pleaded, hoping that would put him off for a little while. She wasn’t against Thomas paying court to her, but she’d been taken completely by surprise and needed to think on his offer. Lady Blythe would not be pleased by her son’s interest in her companion. Thomas was wealthy and titled, and she was the poor widow of a shipbuilder. She wasn’t worthy of him, and he would see that given time. She wished to spare him the embarrassment of having to withdraw his attentions, and needed to retain her position in Lady Blythe’s household. She couldn’t afford to risk her livelihood; her family depended on her.