Page 37 of Waking Roslyn

“No, please,” I insisted. “Don’t interrupt your work on my account.”

“Saints, John,” Emeline said as she went back to portioning dough, “I didn’t know you were teaching a lady.”

“Oh, I’m not…” My weak objection trailed off.

John shrugged as he said to the ladies, “She claims she’s not.”

“Hmm,” Cecily said, her eyes bouncing back and forth from her yarn to her children. “Claims, does she?”

My mouth quirked to the side. Why did I feel like I was being lovingly teased and called a liar at the same time?

“Oh, leave her be,” Emeline said as she gave Cecily a meaningful look that Cecily didn’t see. “We all like to have a secret or two, don’t we?”

Cecily just smiled and shook her head, then pointed her chin at the two children. “This is Miles and Charles, by the way.”

I waved as the little one, who looked to be about two years old, grinned and then threw his spindle across the floor.

“I’ve got it,” John said, crossing to where it had bounced into a corner.

“So what brings you in?” Emeline asked. “Did you need something to eat?”

“Always,” John said as he grabbed a biscuit from the basket on the counter and ate half of it in one bite. Then he picked up the spindle and walked it back to little Charles. “But we actually came because Miss Rose inflicted a grievous injury upon me and insisted I take care of it.”

I folded my arms over my chest. “You make me sound silly.”

John looked like he was going to apologize, but Emeline spoke up first. “Trust me, you’re not.” She looked at her hands, which were covered in dough, then at Beatrice. “Beatrice, could you—”

The kitchen door that led to the rest of the house opened and another maid stepped in. The moment her gaze landed on John and me, she looked timid and uncertain, even going so far as to back up a step. Odd that she would retreat; John and I were the ones who didn’t belong here.

“Hello, Nellie,” John greeted before tossing the other half of the biscuit into his mouth.

Nellie immediately ducked her head, but then looked up shyly. “Evening, John.”

“Nellie,” Emeline said. “Perfect. John has a scratch that needs tending.” She nodded her head toward a door on the other side of the room. “Would you mind?”

Nellie’s cheeks went a little pink. “Course not.”

“We really don’t need to take Nellie away from her duties,” John said.

Beatrice pierced him with a look. “Go on, John. You know better than to leave a cut unattended.”

He rolled his eyes. “It’s not a cut. It’s a scratch.”

“Do you want to tell your mother that when it gets infected?” Beatrice asked.

John raised his hands in defeat. “Fine, fine. But only because I’m afraid of you, Bea,” he said with a wink in her direction. Then he turned to the young maid. “Lead the way, Nellie.”

She turned and walked quietly toward the other side of the room. John followed after her, then moved quickly so that he could pass her in time to open the door and hold it for her. They both passed through and the door clicked shut behind them.

I was left standing there, feeling…unsettled? Perhaps the maid was shy in general, but I was fairly certain it was John alone who had made her blush. Did the girl have feelings for him? Did he return them? Were they whispering and holding hands on the other side of that door, enjoying just being close?

Good grief, why was I torturing myself with such thoughts? More importantly, why were such thoughts torturous? Yes, I valued our budding friendship, but I certainly didn’t have any claim on him.

“Ugh.” Emeline let out a groan, which thankfully interrupted my runaway thoughts. “I’m still jealous that I can’t fight anymore, but I don’t miss the nicks and bruises.”

I stared at her, shocked. Emeline was…tiny. Short and small-framed. Her pregnant stomach practically took up her whole body. “You used to fight?”

Emeline just nodded, but Cecily jumped in. “And she was amazing. She could even give John a challenge.”