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.“Food’s not much fun anymore, Miss Milton?” he asked gently, even as he took her spoon and put it in the bowl for her.Even though she did nothing more than watch him stir the soup as though to tempt her appetite, she knew that somewhere a page had turned in her book of life.I need a friend, she thought suddenly.Andrew is in school where I fear he will be mistreated, Blair is dead, there is a reunion to plan, I am nearly thirty, and I need a friend.“Nothing is fun anymore,” she said.She hesitated, waiting for him to move away in embarrassment.After Blair’s funeral she had tried to talk to the vicar, but he had been more concerned for Lord Denby.There was Andrew to comfort, made all the more difficult because she did not know how much comfort he needed.Now here I am, sitting at my neighbor’s table for a perfectly prosaic luncheon, and I am about to fly into a thousand tiny pieces, she thought.He will think I am a lunatic.“Nothing,” she concluded, and picked up the spoon.“Then we will have to change that, Miss Milton,” he said.“Now eat your soup and let us return to the invitations.”She did as he said, disinclined to say more, since she had already said too much.While Mr.Butterworth ate another bowl of soup, Jane worked her way around a strawberry tart.I am so good at creating the illusion of eating, she thought, observing to herself that she had quite mastered the art of plying knife and fork to no effect.I need a friend, she thought again, as she put down her fork.She took a deep breath.“Mr.Butterworth, can we be friends?” She thought it would sound dreadfully forward, and cause her neighbor to fall off his chair.Nothing of the kind happened.“We will speak our minds to each other.I find that agreeable, Miss Milton.”So it is, she thought, as she allowed him to pull back her chair.As he escorted her back to the desk in the sitting room, she was hard-pressed to recall a time when she had been on such terms with anyone.Only at the very end of his life had Blair entrusted her with his thoughts, and by then, they were only regrets.She sighed and turned her attention to the invitations before her.Jane worked steadily, her mind on the task before her, until she noticed that the light was changing in the room.She put down the quill and flexed her fingers, then rose to look out the window.“It is too early for Andrew,” Mr.Butterworth said, and she realized with a start that he was sitting at the other desk in the room, one with pigeonholes and papers.She supposed that he had been there all afternoon.“Do you run your mill from here?” she asked, not ignoring his comment, but interested in a desk so cluttered.There was a wooden basket marked “In,” and another marked “Out,” and a large inkwell.“I have never seen anyone engaged in actual business before,” she said.He gestured at the desk.‘Then look here, Miss Jane Milton.My brother-in-law is my junior partner.He sends me weekly reports and only troubles me with those problems he cannot solve himself.I go home one week in the month.In this way, we have managed to keep our crass commerce flowing through the empire.”“Why do you live here?” she asked, coming around the desk to look over his shoulder.“I should think it would be easier for you to be closer to Huddersfield.”“I choose it,” he said, closing the ledger in front of him.“The village is quiet, the air is better, and I choose it.”“What is that like, I wonder,” she said.“To choose something, I mean, and then to do it?” she added, when he looked at her in surprise.“And do not be so astonished! I doubt one female in three has much choice in anything she does.”She thought he would laugh, but he only frowned, and then went to stand beside the window.“Now you are watching for Andrew, sir,” she accused him.“He already knows that I am a worrywart, Mr.Butterworth, but I do not think he suspects such a thing of you.Come away, sir!”He shook his head, but said nothing, and she was content to watch him there.She was deciding that he was handsome in an impressive sort of way when he turned to her and gestured toward the door.“My dear Miss Milton, let us rummage about belowstairs and locate some refreshment for Andrew when he arrives.If I remember right—can it be over thirty years ago that I was ten?—Latin is a fatiguing business [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]

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