Because Ivan was taking me riding, and I was going to spend the day with my kinky Lord Rothvale… having fun together and being happy.

I chose my jeans embellished with bohemian silks and the short red jacket I’d brought for the rehearsal dinner for my riding outfit. My brown ankle boots from yesterday, had miraculously been polished and returned to the wardrobe at some point. Mr. Finnegan was a stealth master indeed. Like, when did he come in here and do these things? Hopefully, he had some help below who did the actual laundry. I didn’t like to think of him slaving away on my behalf, washing my clothes and shining my boots at his age. He should be allowed to do the things he loved, like making those delicious scones.

I was pretty sure I could smell them baking actually as I followed my nose to the kitchen. I was greeted by Zeke and Zuly just as Mr. Finnegan was removing a pan of them from the ovens.

“Ahh, I thought I smelled your delicious scones, Mr. Finnegan. My nose led me straight here with no problem.”

“I was anticipating you, Miss Hargreave. I am determined to feed you my scones straight out of the oven, and I won’t take no for an answer this time.” He smiled at me and indicated with his head. “I have your tea ready at the counter, if you’d like to eat in here with me you are most welcome.”

I was being invited to eat breakfast in Mr. Finnegan’s kitchen?

“And I am going to say ‘yes please’ to your offer, Mr. Finnegan. No need to twist my arm today.” I gave the dogs some attention first and then made my way over to the counter and sat on a modern high-backed stool. The kitchen was huge and had been through a recent renovation. The only clue as to the true age of the house in this room was the great fireplace that had probably once been used for cooking entire animals within it. Now it was just a warm place for the dogs to have their beds beside a cozy fire when the weather grew cold.

I asked him questions about the house, and he asked me about my studies in London as he stirred away at something spicy in a pot. It was comfortable and easy talking to him, and I would be spending a lot of time in his company in the next year, so it made sense now to get to know each other better.

When paired with the Irish butter and the raspberry jam, Mr. Finnegan’s scones bordered on something of a sacred experience. I told him so as I finished the last decadent bite from my plate. Mr. Finnegan thanked me kindly for the compliment and then took a seat on the stool next to me. It was a surprise, because I’d never seen him sit before. He was always busy doing something where you never quite witnessed the process, only the end result.