Free Carla Kelly by The Ladys Companion Page A

warming shelf. “That’s the one thing that hasn’t happened to our lady’s companions yet.”
    Susan smiled at her, fascinated. “I’m sure it’s not because some have not wished it!” she said.
    Mrs. Skerlong only smiled. “Come now, sit and have some porridge.” She chuckled behind her hand. “You’ll have to eat a prodigious amount to fill out that dress!”
    They laughed together, and Susan tucked into the porridge, marveling as she ate and trying not to exclaim like an idiot over the tastiness of it, just how it was that something familiar should taste better in these surroundings.
    “That was so good I must have some more,” she said when she finished, and held out her bowl.
    “You’ll still never fill out that dress, no matter how much you eat.”
    Susan glanced around. David Wiggins stood in the doorway, blinking his eyes after the amazing brightness of the snow outside. He nodded to Mrs. Skerlong—who reached for another bowl—shook the snow off his coat, and tossed it expertly over the coat tree. He sat down at the table across from Susan and watched her face in silence until she wanted to look away.
    “What, sir?” she asked finally, hoping the exasperation didn’t show in her voice, but half hoping that it would. For all that he was across the table from her, he seemed uncomfortably close.
    “Thank you, Mrs. Skerlong,” he said as she set a bowl of porridge already thick with cream in front of him. “You look a little fragile in the morning light, Miss Hampton. I was just wondering what I would have done if you had pegged out last night during our walk.”
    Silly man, she thought as she smiled at Mrs. Skerlong and picked up her spoon again. “Well, if I had broken my leg, you could have shot me,” she said, her tone conversational.
    He grinned down into his bowl, but didn’t say anything.
    “Looks are sometimes deceiving, sir,” she continued after a few mouthfuls more of porridge. “I could probably eat you under the table and outlast you on any march.”
    “We’ll try it sometime,” he said when he finished, and he reached for the coffee cup that Mrs. Skerlong handed him. “Coffee, Miss Hampton?” he offered.
    She indicated her cup. “I prefer tea.”
    “Of course you do. Coffee’s for old campaigners.” He regarded her another moment, then turned his attention to the housekeeper. “Mrs. Skerlong, there’s yet another new calf in the byre and another threatening. Tell me what possesses cows to drop their calves when it’s colder than a well digger’s arse outside?”
    Susan choked over her tea and resisted the urge to laugh. I must have left the land of well-bred, boring conversationalists, she thought. The bailiff is a genuine article. She regarded Wiggins with more interest, admiring his face in profile as he looked at the housekeeper. Nose a trifle long, she thought, but straight. Chins like that usually mean stubbornness. Aunt Louisa’s modiste would say that cheekbones so prominent show character, but that can’t be, because he’s a dark Welshman. I wonder how he came by a name like Wiggins?
    Mrs. Skerlong was obviously no stranger to the bailiff’s kitchen chat. “It’s the same logic that compels women to reach their confinement in the middle of the night,” she said. “All my babies came at night.”
    “I call it damned inconsiderate,” he said frankly. He leaned back in the chair and the exhaustion seemed to ooze off him. He pushed the coffee cup toward the housekeeper. “Another of those, if you please, and I might stay awake for a few hours longer.” He directed his attention to Susan again. “Well, now that you’ve scrutinized me, are there any questions about myself that need answers?”
    “My, but you’re blunt,” Susan said before she thought. “How on earth does your wife manage?”
    He did laugh then, with a sidelong glance at Mrs. Skerlong. “That’s easy, Miss Hampton. I’m not married. Wives take time and money; I have