“Bess, have ye seen to that duck? Good gracious, child, ye’d burn the whole supper if I let ye!”
Bess practically skipped over to the fire where a plump bird was sizzling on a spit. She turned it once or twice in a preoccupied sort of way and Luveday noticed with annoyance that there was a dreamy sort of smile spread across Bess’s entire face.
“And what’re ye grinnin’ like a little idiot fer?”
Bess laughed. “Ah, Luveday, my only wish in the world is that everyone could be as happy as I am right now.”
“Hmmph,” she said, as if Bess had absolutely no right to be happy at all. “Been dippin’ into the ale, have ye?” She made a guttural slurping noise in the back of her throat that seemed to signal disgust. “Girls is all the same these days. Think that love is all about butterflies and pixie dust.”
“Surely you had your own love when you were young, dear?”
Having a servant girl call her “dear” was probably the last straw. Luveday creamed the Brussels sprouts with a ferocious arm and muttered something under her breath about cheeky little chits. Bess giggled to herself as she replayed the afternoon with Ronnie in her mind for the fortieth time, and the ill-fated duck caught fire.