“That’s hardly a man’s duty.”
Malcolm laughed loudly, throwing his head back with guffaws. Dogs started barking in the distance.
Jane held up embarrassed hands. “Please, Mr. MacFarlane, lower your voice. I shouldn’t be talking unaccompanied to a stranger at this hour. Or any hour.”
He clamped a hand over his mouth and muttered through his fingers, “Sorry. I will make things right at the soup kitchen. Have no fears. I’ve been a bachelor long enough to have some homely skills. No one will know anything out of the ordinary happened.”
“I was supposed to make the bread.” It was such a trivial thing to worry about in light of what happened, and from her exasperated tone Jane knew it.
“Make it here at home,” he told her. “You can find some excuse.”
Jane paused nervously. She made ready to speak but thought better of it. Malcolm didn’t question her.
Finally, she blurted out, “Won’t you come inside? My father is awake. He rarely sleeps. I should like to give you breakfast, or at least something for your goodness.”
“I don’t want to disturb him.”
She opened the door and turned back with an eager smile. “On the contrary, he would enjoy another man’s company for a change, I’m sure.”
Malcolm entered the trim little home, instantly feeling the weight of his guns in the domestic setting. The furnishings were sparse yet pristine and the interior was meticulously kept. An older woman of a rotund size hurried into view, flustered and harried, in a dressing gown wrapped around a nightdress. She looked surprised to see the mistress of the house, then flummoxed at the sight of the dark-haired man. “Miss Jane!”
“It’s all right, Mrs. Cummings. A pot of tea, please. We’ll have it here in the parlor.”
“Yes, Miss.” Mrs. Cummings curtsied. She stared at Malcolm with a glint of approval, then darted back where she had come from, most likely the kitchen.
Jane led Malcolm into a small room lined with bookcases. The tables were covered with lamps and vases and bric-a-brac. It was as if the pieces of a life once used to a larger home were now crammed into this little abode. She settled herself on the sofa and gestured Malcolm toward a high-backed chair that would suit his large frame. He mindfully pulled it near the open door to spare Jane any embarrassment of being alone in a room with a man.
Malcolm regarded her slender figure as he took his seat. She folded her hands in her lap, her long fingers interlacing. She looked weary. Beneath her steel-rimmed spectacles he could see dark circles under her eyes. He didn’t see any other servants about so he wondered if Mrs. Cummings was the extent of the staff.
They sat in uncomfortable silence for a time until the tea arrived. Mrs. Cummings bustled about for a few minutes, pouring the beverage and distributing the cups until Jane thanked and dismissed her with, “Please tell Father we have a guest.”
The two of them quietly sipped tea. Malcolm handled the dainty cup and saucer awkwardly. At first, Jane seemed to relish hers as if this were the first time she had had a moment of peace, but soon she placed the cup on the side table and regarded Malcolm a bit fretfully.
“Would you like me to leave?” Malcolm asked.
“No! I would never turn aside someone who is seeking something.”
“What am I seeking?” His lips curved into a gentle grin. He drained his tea before it turned cold. “Salvation?”
“Do you mock me, sir?” Her eyes went wide as she stiffened with indignation.
Malcolm set his cup down a bit loudly. “My apologies, lass. My manners aren’t parlor fit. Too many nights spent on the road, or off it.”
Her voice spoke quietly, her affront passing like a sudden storm. “Do you believe your soul is in danger, Mr. MacFarlane?”
“I expect sometimes it is.”
“I wish to know what it is you do exactly, Mr. MacFarlane, to hear it plain rather than couched in metaphors. I have had time to think on what occurred at the kitchen. As much as I would wish it wasn’t real, I know it was. Men like you seem to face these things while I wear rose-colored glasses and take shelter here in this house.”
Perceptive again, Malcolm noted, and smiled to ease her fears. “Miss Somerset. Your glasses are not rosy, nor do you hide. There are many in need. You’ve placed yourself in the very heart of their battlefield. I admire and respect that.”
She bowed her head gratefully. “Thank you.”
“But you can do much more.”
“How so, Mr. MacFarlane?”
“Because of your ability to wield lightning.”
Color fled her cheeks. She glanced around nervously, afraid someone in the household would hear. Malcolm cursed himself for speaking so openly.
“My apologies again, lass. I should be more cautious.”
Jane toyed with a loose thread. “Mrs. Cummings is hard of hearing. I doubt she could hear a storm outside her door.”
“Your father then?”
She nodded.