Evie woke the next morning feeling refreshed and energetic. She stretched languorously before rolling out of bed and pulling back the drapes to let in the bright sun. Mornings, she decided, weren’t nearly so dreadful when they began at quarter after eleven. Throwing open the window, she breathed in the warm salt air and watched a pair of gulls battle over a bit of something in the sand.
“What a lovely day,” she murmured. Eager to begin it, she dressed quickly in a soft white muslin day gown with a subtly embroidered hem and flattering neckline. And after several minutes of frustration, she managed to pin her hair up in a style approaching—but not quite arriving at—fashionable.
She made a face in the vanity mirror. With McAlistair in the house, it would have been nice to look her very best, particularly since the man had been seeing her at her very worst for the last two days.
Accepting that there was nothing to be done about it, she turned from the mirror and crossed the room to open her door. She found Mrs. Summers on the other side, her hand raised to knock.
“Ah. I was just coming to check on you. How are you feeling?”
“Very well, thank you.” Which was obviously more than could be said for Mrs. Summers. The woman looked positively green. “Is everything all right, Mrs. Summers?”
The older woman brought an unsteady hand to her stomach. “Everything but my constitution. Breakfast was worse today than it was yesterday. I believe Christian saved you a plate…I suggest you claim a desire for toast, dry.”
Evie winced sympathetically. “I will, thank you. What of dinner last night?”
“I had fruit and cheese. It seemed a wise choice. You will speak to the man about taking over the cooking, won’t you, dear?”
“I can’t promise he will agree or that you’ll notice a marked improvement if he does, but yes, I’ll speak to him.” She glanced down the hallway and asked in what she hoped was a casual tone, “Where are the others?”
“Mr. Hunter is giving Mr. McAlistair a tour of the house and grounds. I would offer to provide you with the same,” Mrs. Summers swallowed loudly, “but I am afraid I must lie down for a bit.”
“No need to trouble yourself. I can explore the house on my own well enough.”
“Oh, thank goodness,” Mrs. Summers very nearly groaned, then promptly shuffled into the room next door.
Evie spent what little remained of the morning investigating her new surroundings. Though she found Christian in the kitchen, she chose to postpone speaking to him about the cooking. She barely knew the man, really. Suppose he was temperamental, or sensitive? What if he should take her desire to cook as a personal insult?
When lunch turned out to be what Evie suspected was the remains of breakfast reheated, her concern for Christian’s sensibilities was promptly replaced by concern for her health. Mrs. Summers—who’d had the sense to remain in her room with another meal of cheese and fruit—had been right. Every bite of egg tasted like a great forkful of butter. It was ghastly.
She pushed the offending food around on the plate in an effort to disguise her lack of interest in eating.
“Do you often c-come to the shore?” she asked Mr. Hunter, stifling a grimace at the return of her stammer. She was not yet as comfortable around Mr. Hunter and Christian as she was with Mrs. Summers and McAlistair.
Mr. Hunter swallowed a mouthful of food. Mrs. Summers was right on that score as well; neither he, nor Christian, nor McAlistair seemed to have the least bit of trouble eating the butter-soaked meal. “Not as often as I would like.”
“And what d-do you do for amusement whilst in residence?”
“Very little, to be honest. I generally come with a staff and spend my hours reading, sailing, or—”
“Sailing?” Her interest was immediately engaged. “You’ve a boat?”
“Several. It’s something you enjoy, I take it?”
“I haven’t the foggiest,” she admitted. “I’ve n-neverbeen on the sea.”
“Never?” The question was echoed by both Christian and McAlistair.
“Not once. The opportunity hasn’t arisen often, and—” And when it had, she’d been strongly discouraged from taking advantage of it. The family physician had insisted that the combination of rough water and her weak leg posed a risk to her safety. Utter nonsense. It was her leg, and she knew her capabilities better than anyone else. “Circumstances arose to make my p-participation impossible,” she finished and looked hopefully at Mr. Hunter. “But I should dearly love to try now.”
Mr. Hunter picked up his glass and smiled. “Certainly. McAlistair can take you out.”
McAlistair raised a single eyebrow at Mr. Hunter. “I suppose I could.”
It wasn’t quite the enthusiastic offer a woman might hope for, but since it was an offer, Evie chose not to quibble. “Today? Can we go—”
“Tomorrow,” McAlistair cut in. “I’ve things to do first.”
“What things?”