The vistors that extended over the next few days consisted of Lord Weston and Lord Devonport, whenever they could, and Lady Delafort.
Mainly Lady Delafort.
Most days when Belinha were to give him food or water, she found them whispering and then moving apart when she arrived. It was improper for them to be in the same room without a chaperone, but she didn't say anything to cause a rift.
She wanted to be on Lord Caldwell's and Lady Delafort's good side, and since they were promised to one another, there was no reason to think a scandal could arise.
Today, when she raced downstairs after a brief chat with the Duchess, she saw Angelica's lowered countenance.
"What is the matter?" she asked the young woman huddled under the staircase.
She startled at being caught, large brown eyes imploring her own before haughtily lifting her chin. The young woman seemed to hate being vulnerable. "I have tasked myself with doing too much at once," she said before rushing to add, "though it is something I can deal with myself."
"I will gladly take the burden off you, if you are willing."
She faltered slightly. "Truly?"
"Yes, but first I must know what the matter is, silly."
She got up from the nook with more vigour than ever. "I promised Mrs that I would do the laundry and help bake the sponge cake, but I had foolishly accepted in making small meals for Lord Caldwell. She expects me to be back now but how am I supposed to do two things at once?"
That was a big problem. And knowing Mrs, she could very well get rid of the young woman if she wanted for more 'efficient' staff. "I can help make whichever you want," she offered. "Which did you promise first?"
"The cake."
"Then that is what you will bake. I will make the small meals. Since I had already asked Lord Caldwell to allow me to deliver his meals, this will be for the best."
She hesitated slightly as Belinha led the way to the servant's quarters. "But do you know how to cook?"
"Of cou—I mean yes, I have learnt at my last employer. It's ever so enjoyable!"
Angelica gave her an odd look. "You are one strange woman, Miss Price."
Belinha was starting to gather the attention of even the servants and that was bad. What if they gossiped to others and spread the word to Sir Pablo's help?
No, he's not here. He's gone back. Surely he wouldn't have come searching for her. Time would tell, but she could only hope that no one else would catch on.
She worked silently besides Angelica, the warmth of the kitchen and the smell of freshly made dough and bread wafting about; it reminded her of the kitchen in Sir Pablo, the only place she felt like she belonged, with Gloria's bountiful laughter and loud voice filling the gaps.
Here, everyone was silent, but it was peaceful. There was no lingering fear hanging off everyone's being that they would be beaten or flagged, tied to a post or starved if instructions weren't followed to perfection. There was a freedom in being a servant in luxurious families, though maybe not all, definitely in this one.
Belinha, drawing from her experience, quickly made sandwiches with thin slices of cucumber, a lemon tart with homemade lemon curd, clotted cream for scones and black tea before setting it all on a silver tray. She hadn't realised someone was watching her until the hair on the back of her beck stood up.
Angelica gawked at her. "When you said you were able to cook, I hadn't thought you meant all this," she said, nodding in approval.
Sheepishly, Belinha lifted the tray. "I do rather enjoy being in the kitchen."
"As if that was not obvious." They shared a smile. Angelica's flour covered hands stopped in mixing the cake batter. "I must thank you for your assistance. You have taken off a weight that I did not even know I carried."
"If there is anything else I am able to do, please come to me." With that, she set forward to her destination. She adjusted the tray so that she was balancing it in one arm. She tapped the door before opening it.
Unfortunately for her, Lady Delafort and Lord Caldwell looked as if they were caught up in an embrace or a near-kiss from the angle that she had walked in from. Belinha couldn't hold back the startled yelp that left her, causing the petite lady to jump away.
"Do get better, Richard," she said, the red giving a peachy complexion to her otherwise fair, creamy skin. She outstretched her hands toward Belinha that she couldn't take. Seeing they were occupied, Lady Delafort placed her arms down. "I am ever so grateful for you helping my Richard. He's a bumbling fool, sometimes."
She acted as if what she had stumbled upon hadn't happened at all, but Belinha figured that would be the smartest—and safest—thing to do as well, and went along.
"He seems to be very aware of that fact, my lady," she said. Lady Delafort laughed.
"You may be right." She curtseyed to her fiance and left the room.
Now they were all alone. Belinha hesitantly inched toward him. Lord Caldwell was propped up against the headboard, waiting.
"If it helps relieve your aghastness of finding yourself in a precarious situation, nothing had occurred. You walked in before it could."
"I did not see a thing," she said, smoothly. "In fact, I only came to give you your luncheon, my lord." She placed the tray atop his lap covered in thick white quilts. He surveyed the contents with interest.
"Cucumber sandwiches, cream scones, coffee and—wait a devilish minute, do my eyes deceive me?" He peered at the lemon tart. "Is that a tart? Why, you treat me too highly. Mrs hands me leftover cake and stale tea."
"Was that what you preferred? I admit, I may have overdone the meals. I didn't know what—" She trailed off at the now-wide-eyed Lord who choked on a sip of his coffee.
"I do not mean to be so rude and interrupt, but you made this?" He gestured down to the tray. "All of it?"
"Yes, my lord. Why, is it not up to standard?"
"Good God, you have gone beyond my expectations." He peered at her. "Who are you, woman?"
The demand relayed in slight teasing made her laugh, ducking her head down. The answer wouldn't be as flowery as he would be expecting so she made sure not to respond.
"I don't think I deserve such sugary words until after you try them," she said, folding and unfolding the pleats on her dress.
"You raise a fine argument." He raised the tart and shoved a whole piece into his mouth, very ungentlemanly like and groaned his pleasure. Belinha held her breath. "Marvellous," he mumbled around around it, before grabbing a knife and generously spreading some clotted cream on his scones. He took a bite.
"I have declared this my favourite dessert," came the exclamation around his full mouth. He swallowed. "Perhaps I should fall off a horse more often if this is the sort of food I am provided. Stale cake and tea is so incredibly dull, one would wish they'd be unmoving in bed rather than awake."
"It cannot be that bad, can it?"
He snorted. "That is not the opinion you'd hold once you have the misfortune of trying it. The woman has no culinary knack, that is abundantly evident."
"You praise the food too dearly."
"I praise your food, Miss Price, never Mrs. In fact, I feel as though my words are not doing it justice."
As he continued to shovel down the food, Belinha tittered on edge, lingering near the door. A knock made her straighten. Why? She was a servant and doing what her duty asked of her.
The Duke came in. She curtseyed and stepped back near the door, away from the glare he sent her way. She bent her head down so he didn't burn holes there.
She still didn't understand how a sweetheart like the Duchess ended up with a stone cold man like him. Even looking him in the eyes made Belinha shiver.
Like he knew she was not supposed to be here.
The two men stared at each other, the silence so deafening, Belinha did not dare even let out an exhale through her mouth.
"How are you faring?" asked the burly man.
"Fine."
"Good."
Silence again.
Speak properly! she wanted to scream, but it was clear that neither wanted to be there in that moment. Lord Caldwell, unlike his father who visibly shifted with his arms behind his back, went back to the food.
"He is being well looked after, Your Grace," she quickly said. The Duke swivelled his head over to her. He didn't say anything.
You shoulda kept your mouth shut like the slave you are, she snapped at herself.
"I trust he's in good hands," he said, albeit a little stifled. Belinha stopped her mental rant and blinked. Before she could process anything, he stiffly strode back out the door, letting it shut with a slam that rattled the door frames.
Lord Caldwell continued eating as if his father hadn't left the room as soon as he'd arrived. Something clenched around her heart, like fingers gripping tight and refusing to let go.
They were both in pain. They must be. Who could not speak to their parent or son for so long without missing them?
She noticed the Duke and Lord Caldwell barely speaking to each other despite having a few days rest for the both of them.
She didn't know how long the misunderstandings and bitterness lasted between them, but they were a good family. The Duchess and the Duke had something special, like Lord Caldwell did with Lady Delafort.
"You have a wonderful family," she accidentally mused aloud. Lord Caldwell paused in his chewing and raised a brow at her. Oh no, she had pried! "I am sorry, my lord, I—"
He continued chewing before swallowing, choosing his words carefully. "It is not the picture perfect family, as you can clearly see."
"I think that's what makes it perfect."
This time he met her eyes, the jovial attitude seeping away from him giving her a glimpse into the real Lord Caldwell, beyond the facade he usually placed.
Or was it really a facade?
"I made an excellent choice in appointing you for mother's confidant," he said instead, avoiding the topic altogether. Belinha let out a breath she didn't know she held, shoulders slumped in disappointment. Even though she wasn't one to pry, she maybe held hope that he would open up to her.
But why should he? They weren't friends and he didn't owe him anything purely because he was appointed to be her companion.
"One thing I cannot wrap my mind around, however," he continued, not realising that she was daydreaming, "is how you always seem to be at the right place at the right time."
"I'd like to think that I am guided by God in that matter," she said, not realising that her words had forced the young man into silence. "Also to Lord Beau it would seem that I am always in the wrong place at the right time."
That drew out a chuckle from the Lord who had lazily propped himself against his headboard. "I cannot say I dispute that observation."
"Have you a clue as to when you will join your mother and father for dinner?" she asked, swiftly changing the subject as she grabbed the tray from his lap. It had been a question niggling at her mind only because she could see the Duchess' failed efforts at coaxing her son to join.
She felt she owed this to the Duchess, even if meant facing temporary wrath on overstepping her boundaries.
He tensed up at this questioning before his shoulders relaxed. "I was told by your mother that your father misses you."
A snort of wordless denial resulted from the man. "A lie if I've ever heard one," he muttered, fingering the quilt with a frown that made him look like a dejected little boy. "Mother may miss me, but father? No. It does not bode well with his character."
"Would he visit you otherwise?"
"Because Mother coerced him to do so. I am sure of it."
"I believe people don't always act how they feel. Don't you, my lord?"
He didn't respond.