Chapter 120: You Like That Kind?

Since rescuing Polly and Colin together in the forest, Thomas and Yang Yi's relationship has improved greatly.

The Huntingtons and the Woolleys specifically came to thank Yang Yi, and the villagers have become increasingly friendly toward her. When Yang Yi went to collect Miranda's mail and passed through the village, she received many invitations to afternoon tea, though Yang Yi declined them all.

She is growing to love this simple, honest little town more and more.

It is dinner time.

A rectangular dining table is covered with a white tablecloth, and a bouquet of fresh flowers cut from the garden stands in a vintage vase, the color scheme possessing an oil-painting aesthetic. Miranda is an elegant old lady; her aesthetic sense, while not quite matching that of her artist master, is not far off.

That day, Miranda went to have afternoon tea with the neighbor lady next door. Yang Yi saw the flowers in the vase had withered, so she picked a handful from the garden and arranged them in the vase, but no matter how she fiddled with them, they never looked as good as Miranda's arrangement.

Thomas came downstairs just in time to see this, revealing an expression that made one's eyes burn. His thin lips twitched, as if about to spew some mocking words from those thin lips, but then he seemed to think of something, closed his mouth, turned around, and went up to the second floor.

Yang Yi read the meaning of "out of sight, out of mind" on his face.

"You're eating too little, Frisa," Miranda said.

Yang Yi swallowed the foul-smelling sardines without changing her expression, then chewed a portion of roasted meat casually a couple of times, forcing it down her throat until it landed in her stomach.

Finally, she drank a few sips of tea to wash away the dead, stale scent of the food in her mouth.

"The taste is wonderful; I wonder when I can learn your skills," Yang Yi said with a touch of exaggerated flattery.

"Oh, Frisa, your little mouth is so sweet! Mr. Thomas has never praised my cooking before," Miranda said with a smile, glancing sideways at Thomas by the table, "Don't worry, British cuisine should be the simplest cuisine in the world. Mr. Thomas has no special requirements for food; as long as it fills his stomach, that's all!"

Thomas's right wrist, bitten by a wolf, had not yet healed; after saving the two children last time, the injury had worsened. The doctor said that if he still wanted to be a painter and sculptor who creates with his hands, he must not engage in any heavy activities for at least one or two months.

Hearing Miranda's slightly dissatisfied words, he acted as if deaf, not even looking, and struggled with his fork and food using only his left hand.

Miranda finished clearing the plates and prepared to leave. Seeing Thomas's state, she coughed lightly and said to Yang Yi, "Frisa, dear, why not help Mr. Thomas?" With that, a strange smile curled her lips, and she turned to enter the kitchen.

So, Yang Yi moved her chair closer to Thomas, took his knife and fork, cut the roasted meat on his plate into bite-sized pieces for him, and said with a half-smile, "Your Grace, the noble Marquess of Essex, please allow your loyal servant to serve your meal!"

Such a title sounds very respectful in other people's mouths, so why does it sound so strange coming from hers? Thomas glanced at her: "I hear no respect in your respectful tone."

"That is probably because I am not very familiar with British noble etiquette, Your Grace; please forgive me," Yang Yi said in a pretentious manner, clumsily imitating a British accent.

Thomas waved his hand: "Come on, Frisa, leave me alone for a while. Isn't being in a small village all about escaping such hypocritical etiquette and pretentious attitudes?"

Yang Yi beamed: "Given your noble status, I am merely performing etiquette befitting your station, Mr."

Thomas stared at her steadily, almost making Yang Yi feel puzzled. "Frisa, are you a radical democrat? A supporter of abolishing the monarchy? Are you mocking me? Because of my status?"

Yang Yi speared a piece of roasted meat and stuffed it into his mouth, her tone flat: "That is your country's politics; it has nothing to do with me. I am just curious how someone of your status lived growing up? You don't know, for a great noble and great bourgeois like you who was raised in luxury since childhood, I am envious, jealous, and resentful."

She didn't know why, but recently she seemed to care less and less, her behavior and actions showing a spontaneity beyond her usual self. Perhaps it stemmed from jealousy toward those born with everything, perhaps from avoidance of the impending disaster, or perhaps it was a willful act of giving up on everything.

In the past, she cared deeply about the emotions of those around her, feared offending others, and feared what others thought of her; this heavy interpersonal burden had even become a weight on her.

But recently, she suddenly didn't care anymore, even wanting to deliberately offend others.

Thomas's tone was sharp: "How did I live? Hypocritical noble etiquette, chaotic private life, fighting until heads are broken for power and profit, and couples who are together in name only, cold parent-child relationships—there is nothing new under the sun, nothing but these! If you want more details, just order the best-selling tabloid in Britain; it can satisfy all your curiosity!"

His tone was filled with disgust and indifference, making her unable to help but regret her momentary whim.

Yang Yi quickly realized the abnormality of her attitude and apologized sincerely: "Alright, Mr. Thomas, I apologize to you! Now I am not serving you as a maid, but helping you as a friend. Come, open your mouth, ah—"

Thomas accepted her apology, obediently opened his mouth, and ate the piece of roasted meat. After swallowing, he tilted his head back proudly and praised her: "Well done, Frisa." He then gestured toward the napkin by the table.

Yang Yi curled her lips slightly, picked up the napkin, and wiped his mouth.

"You do a good job as a maid, Frisa; perhaps one day you will be promoted to my housekeeper, taking over Miranda's work," Thomas said leisurely, his brown-green eyes filled with amusement.

Yang Yi lowered her brows, a wave of sorrow passing through her eyes, but it soon dissipated. "I hope there will be such a day," she said.

Thomas was very sensitive to this detail and said with implied meaning: "I hope there will be a day of openness between us, Frisa."

Yang Yi pressed her lips together and said nothing.

She picked up her knife and fork, changing the subject, "Would you like some more? Compared to a man of the same height, you are a bit too thin, Mr. Thomas."

"What? Do you like that kind?" Thomas suddenly sneered, gesturing toward the television not far away.

Yang Yi turned her head to look. The TV screen was playing an off-road vehicle advertisement: after several flashy shots demonstrating the vehicle's performance, Chris Norton, dressed in camouflage outdoor gear, got out of the car. Sweat ran down his cheeks and neck, flowing into his collar. When he bent down to grab a water bottle, his muscular thighs, full buttocks, and healthy, wild curves were truly full of masculinity.

Yang Yi unconsciously licked her lower lip.

"It seems you really do like this!" Thomas said with an inexplicable tone.