Page 65 of Waking Roslyn

“As you should be.” He thought for a moment and then set down his sheers. “Come on.”

“Where?”

“Sutton, of course,” he said and led me into the woods.

“I enjoyed meeting your mother.”

“I thought you had already met,” he said, sounding curious.

“Well, yes. I had met her as Bridgefield’s cook, but not as your mother.”

He smiled. “I suppose that is different.”

“She reminds me of my own mother. She has that same…softness.”

“She can be soft, certainly. But she’s also fierce when she’s protecting Gretchen, whether it’s protecting her from someone else or from herself.”

I smiled. “Gretchen gets herself into scrapes?”

“Constantly.” He gave a little shake of his head, but his affection for his sister was still obvious. “She takes after me too much in that way.”

“I don’t think her taking after you is a bad thing.”

He looked away, and for just a moment I thought he might be blushing. “Thank you. But I’d much rather she take after my mother. Mum has a level head.”

“I’m certain that’s something that will come to Gretchen with time.”

He blew out a breath. “I certainly hope so.”

We reached Sutton Manor, and John entered the kitchen as if it was something he did on a regular basis. I was hit by the same sense of warmth and comfort as I’d found the first time. Though today it was only Emeline and Miriam that were there. Emeline’s large pregnant belly in her tiny frame was the first thing I noticed when we walked in. That, and the argument she and Miriam were having.

“Emeline, sit down,” Miriam chided in a way that suggested this wasn’t the first time she’d told her to do so.

“I can help,” Emeline said.

“You’re already winded, and I can tell your back is aching. There’s no rush, so just let me handle it.”

“Ugh,” Emeline groaned. “Very well.” She crossed to a chair but looked up at us and smiled as she prepared to lower herself into the chair. “Hello, you two, how are things at Bridgefield?”

“Well enough,” I said at the same time as John said, “Awful.”

Emeline stopped her attempt at sitting and frowned. She straightened to her full diminutive height, her eyes darting between John and me several times before crossing to me and reaching for my chin.

I’d been trying to keep my face turned so that the cut on my cheek wouldn’t be on full display, but she’d obviously caught sight of it. She took my chin in her fingers and examined my cheek. “Is this from training?” she asked, her voice tight.

“No,” John answered firmly.

She tilted my face so I had to look her in the eye. “What happened?”

I pinched my lips, unsure how to answer. I didn’t want to excuse what Edmund had done, but it felt strange to air my grievances to more people.

Before I had decided what to say, John spoke up. “She wouldn’t let Edmund hit his wife, so he hit her instead.”

Anger flashed swift and strong in her eyes, but she took a controlled breath and spoke calmly. “I see.” She cut her eyes over to John. “Your mother tended to it?”

He nodded.

Emeline forced a smile. “Well then. I’m certain it will heal well.” She turned away, and instead of going to sit down as she’d been about to do, she went over to the counter and started pounding on a loaf of bread. “I’m so glad that Lord Rockwell has come to bring peace to the village.”