“And then the vegetables boiled over, and the overflowed water put out the fire, and I . . . when I went to stoke it, a cinder caught me on the cheek. I’m sure it left a mark.” She lowered her head to her arms again. “Everything’s ruined. The meal is ruined, I am ruined. I’m too useless to be a working man’s wife, and”—her shoulders quaked with another sob—“and now I’m disfigured, so no gentleman will want me. I’m going to die an old maid.”
As she spoke, her voice tweaked higher and higher. Until her last word was no more than a plaintive squeak.
“An old maid?” he echoed. “Because of one meal that went awry? Diana, I don’t know what to say. Other than to offer my congratulations.”
“Congratulations?”
He patted her shoulder, chuckling. “I grew up with a mother and two sisters, and all of them like to talk. And that is, undoubtedly, the most feminine progression of thought I’ve ever heard voiced aloud. One escaped eel, make you a spinster?”
She sniffled.
He pulled up a chair next to hers and reached to touch her cheek. “Let me see the burn.”
With reluctance, she offered her face for his view. “Is it very hideous?”
What a question. As if she could—ever—be anything less than beautiful in his eyes.
“This?” He pressed his thumb to the tiny red scorch mark on the gentle sweep of her cheekbone. “This is nothing. Barely noticeable, and it will fade in no time. I’ve had countless such burns myself.”
“And you’re still exceedingly handsome. So that’s some comfort.” She wiped her eyes with a shredded handkerchief. “You must think me ridiculous. I am ridiculous.”
“No, you’re not ridiculous. I understand.”
“How? Do you worry about being an old maid, too?”
He smiled. “I know we come from different backgrounds. But we’ve more in common than you’d think. I was the oldest child, too. And when my father died, I had a mother and two younger sisters to look after.”
“How old were you when he passed away?” she asked.
“Seventeen.”
“I’m sorry. That’s very young to be the man of the family.”
“I was old enough to take his place at the forge, thankfully. I threw myself into the trade, because I knew it was how I could keep my family safe. Spent so much time at that anvil, when I went to bed I pounded iron in my sleep. Then one day, I was shoeing a horse and put my hand in the wrong place at the wrong time. The horse caught my thumb and bit it, hard.” He lifted his hand to demonstrate. “My thumb was all black and swollen. I spent a week not knowing if the bone was crushed, too. Next to losing my father, it was the worst time of my life. I thought I wouldn’t be able to work. The family would starve . . .”
“Everything would be ruined.”
“Exactly.”
She nodded. “I see what you’re saying. You’re right, we are much the same. It’s not my vanity that’s pained, it’s just . . . I was always raised to believe the family depended on me. That my prospects—and to put it bluntly, my face—were our security.”
“So when your mind leaps from a scorched cheek to permanent spinsterhood, it’s understandable. But that doesn’t make it reasonable. You must realize you’re not responsible for your family anymore. Not since your sister married Lord Payne.”
“I know.” She dried her eyes and drew in a breath. “I don’t know why I’m sitting here weeping. I just wanted so badly for this meal to come out right.”
Aaron put a roughened hand over her delicate one, touched by the implication of her words. She wanted more than just the meal to come out right. She wanted this to work between them, and so did he. But it wouldn’t be easy.
“There’s hope yet.” With a fond squeeze to her hand, he stood. “Let’s clean this up and make something to eat.”
They worked together. While Aaron rebuilt the fire, Diana wiped the table and swept the floor—and then she ducked outside for a moment to wash her face and tame her frazzled hair. She did have some vanity.
She returned to find Aaron taking eggs and hard cheese from the larder.
“I hope omelette will do,” he said. “I don’t know any fancy cuisine, but I’ve become quite accomplished in bachelor cooking. Once my mother and sisters moved away, it was that or starve.”
“Omelette sounds wonderful.” She marveled at the way he could carry four eggs in one hand, holding them each separate with his big fingers. “Where did they move to? Your mother and sisters, I mean.”
“They both married sailors. One married a navy man, and she moved to Portsmouth. Mum went with her to help while he’s at sea. The other lives over near Hastings. Her husband’s a merchant sailor.”
“Do you have nieces and nephews?”
“Five so far,” he said proudly. He broke the last egg and added it to the bowl. “If you want to help, you could pare some shavings of that cheese.”
She gathered a board and a small knife, then set about slicing the cheese as thinly as she could. Simple as the task was, she still had a near miss with the blade. His forearms were every bit as distracting in the kitchen as they were in the forge. She was entranced, watching him whisk the eggs with a long-handled fork.
He was so good with his hands in every situation. It was hard not to imagine the wonders those hands could work on her.