The Midwife and the Marquess

Chapter 6: Tea

Maria was done with the day; it was time for bed. And yet she found herself sitting at the kitchen table, her notebook splayed out in front of her, the dim light of one candle illuminating her corner of the world.

She rolled her pen in her fingertips as she contemplated what to write. She had already finished documenting her recollections of the two previous births, and while cataloging what she could was all well and good, the information was useless without a subsequent observation or conclusion. She yearned to write, to make use of her collection of experiences like a quilter uses fabric scraps, but her thoughts remained scattered.

Although the banked fire at the hearth still radiated remnants of heat, Maria shivered from the cold that permeated the room. She shifted her shawl to drape over her shoulder. A small smile touched her lips as the familiar scent of rosemary wafted faintly close to her nose. She inhaled deeply, stared at the blank page in front of her, and abruptly shuddered, tension filling her limbs and causing her joints to ache.

Aggravated, she pushed the stool back and stood, pacing over to the hearth. That is it, she thought bitterly, I've had enough of being a coward. She would make herself a soothing cup of tea and force herself to bed, like a petulant child if she must. Then she would figure out what to do tomorrow. She grimaced as she lifted the cover off of the hearth, tossed a new log onto the embers and packed the crevasses with dried moss. She was not used to being this agitated. Leaning down, she cupped her hands around her mouth and with puckered lips blew a soft, steady stream of air into the place where the embers met virgin wood. Within minutes a satisfying fire roared to life.

She simply stood for a while, watching the fire devour without restraint, unable to stop itself from consuming what it wanted most. Desire was a strange thing. It ate at oneself as much as it hungered for another. Heat flooded her body. She bit her lip and wrapped her arms tightly around herself, trying in vain to contain it.

Tea. She shook herself, moving quickly before her mind could wander off again. She grabbed the kettle and whirled around, intending to fill it at the water pump. Instead, her vision became a blur of black as she collided with something big and hard.

"Oh good Lord!" she shouted, recoiling from the impact. Suddenly hands were on her upper arms.

"Steady now," said a low voice.

"So sorry!" she blurted out while striving to regain her balance. "Are you alright?" She recovered enough to look the newcomer in his face.

Of course.

"No," he stated curtly.

"Oh!" she exclaimed with a half laugh. "Again I am sorry. I did not know you were there."

His hands slid down her arms just a measure before he released her and waved away her statement. "Forget it. I would, however, appreciate it if you put down your weapon."

Oh!" she exclaimed again, sounding rather like a ninny, and realized she was still holding the cast iron kettle in her hand. Pushing a loose strand of hair back, she walked over to the water pump and filled the kettle.

She watched him out of the corner of her eye. She couldn't help herself; although she tried to be discreet. He moved to lean against the kitchen table, one hand braced on the tabletop behind him, the other tracing the edge of her notebook.

"Pardon," he said, and snapped his hand back when he noticed her watching him. A moment of silence passed as Maria strode over to the hearth and hung the kettle to boil.

"Do you perhaps require spectacles?"

"What?" she asked, taken aback by the sudden question.

"I mean..." his expression was scornful as he gestured toward the pitiful singular candle. "If this is the condition you read and write in..."