Free Axel by Grace Burrowes Page A

Stoneleigh’s spoon clattered to her half-empty bowl, which she set aside. Axel had lost the habit of allowing servants to hover at his elbow at the midday meal, fortunately for the lady’s composure.
    “Further, unending apologies.” Axel set his empty bowl aside too, though he could have done with seconds. “One loses the knack of social discourse when adolescent boys are the most frequent companions at mealtimes.”
    “And do you educate them regarding the reproductive life of the flower at table, Professor?”
    “Occasionally. One doesn’t want to waste an opportunity when the boys are sitting still.” Axel lifted the lid from the ham, which sat at his right over a chafing dish. “May I offer you some ham?” He carved off a thick slice—enough to occupy Dayton for three consecutive minutes—and tipped it onto the lady’s plate.
    “Is this your idea of luncheon, or are you going to an effort on my behalf?”
    The good daily silver was on the table, suggesting the staff had gone to an effort. Mrs. Turnbull and Cook were thick as thieves when it came to the household’s pride.
    “I eat well, and I eat a lot. Matthew is the same, but the true gourmand in the family is Christopher. He’s on the rowing squad, recently turned eighteen, still growing, and never still for long.”
    Axel heaped potatoes and peas on his guest’s plate, which still left plenty for him. “No apples, please.”
    He paused, the serving spoon poised above the apples. “You don’t care for them?”
    “I like them well enough.”
    “But you don’t like them to touch the other food, because they are sweet, and the rest of your plate is not.”
    She was almost-smiling again. “Something like that.”
    “What are you thinking?” Axel asked, starting on his own slice of ham.
    She speared a microscopic bite of pork. “Gervaise reminds me of you.”
    “He is a well-favored, successful, and reasonable man. I will choose to be flattered, despite dear Gervaise’s choice of profession.”
    Mrs. Stoneleigh’s nibble of potatoes could best be described as minuscule. “He’s also ruthless, and practical to a fault.”
    “A barrister cannot afford to be sentimental, but do I understand you account me ruthless?”
    The peas she merely pushed about with her fork. “You kidnapped me.”
    “I see you enjoy the potatoes,” Axel said. “We add sour cream and a blend of garden spices along with the mandatory full tub of butter.”
    “The food is wonderful, though yes, you and Gervaise both have the ability to do what must be done. You are not sleepwalking.”
    Matthew’s youngest, Richard, had gone through a sleepwalking and a nightmare phase after his mama’s death.
    “What does that mean?” Axel carved himself a second slice of ham, because he intended to spend the afternoon out of doors. The ham of course needed a complement of potatoes to be properly appreciated.
    “Gregory was asleep,” Mrs. Stoneleigh said, turning the stem of her wine glass. “He would ride out most mornings, unless it was pouring, and come back to join me for breakfast. I would ask how was his ride, and he would tell me his gelding was a little stiff to the right, or one of his hounds ran riot after a hedgehog, and so forth. He could ride right past a collapsed wall on his own property and not see it. His ewes might have gone calling en masse on your tups, and Gregory wouldn’t see that either. He was asleep.”
    “Preoccupied?”
    The lady finally deigned to put three buttery peas on her fork. “
Unaware
. Maybe he used up all his awareness staying alive in India, and a gentleman of his years was entitled to focus on only his hounds.”
    No, he was not
. Axel spooned stewed apples into a fruit bowl. “Try them. Cook enjoys the desserts most of all. Because the boys are away, her genius grows frustrated. My only hope of maintaining her spirits is to regularly threaten to sack her.”
    Mrs. Stoneleigh assayed a spoonful of apples. “Your children must