The carriage ride to Eric's cabin was quiet, but this time it was a comfortable, peaceful silence. Eric has been anticipating the private meal he is to have with Delia all through the ride.
As they got to the familiar clearing in front of the rustic but elegant cabin, Mr. Rye helped Eric take out the wicker baskets filled with their meal. Together, they spread a thick, soft blanket on a patch of lush green grass under the shade of a tall, fragrant pine tree. The setting was simple, but in that moment, it felt more romantic and beautiful to Delia than the most opulent dining room in all of Albion.
"Please," Delia said, turning to the loyal driver as Eric began to unpack the food. "You have been with us all day, Mr. Rye. You must be hungry. Have a bowl of food with us."
Mr. Rye, who was about to head back to the carriage, stopped and waved his hands in a polite, flustered refusal. "No, no, Your Grace. I couldn't possibly. I must refuse."
