Although she she nodded to his smile and his words, Ella didn't answer right away. She held the book close to her with one hand and kept the other tucked in his, and with a gentle squeeze she seemed to thank him for his answer. But it was clear she had to mull it over and internalize it.
Finally, after they had gotten rather close to the kitchens, she spoke. "Thank you for not pressing me right away," she began, quietly. "And I do believe I understand. I have not been...I do not...have the experience to say." Unlike earlier, her voice was hesitant, and very somber. "I...there are things I do not wish to speak about yet, because I....there is a need for me to appear as a princess to you, as much as to everyone else." She had lowered her eyes at this admission, and her voice did not carry very far. "All I can say at this time is that I would never wish to undermine the work of those here. I cannot create tasks, but I will be grateful for what they do for me, and be sure to use the skills they possess that are at my disposal."
It was the sadness, she realized, that sometimes caught her unawares. She had not been a servant to her stepmother and sisters, but instead a slave. She had received no wages, no breaks, and had no life outside of that, nor had she taken pride in her work. But once, she'd had a mother, and when her mother lay dying, Ella had relied on those servants, some of whom had served her family faithfully since her own mother had been a child. Some days, it was just as painful to think of them, and where they might have gone.
And she would try and share a little of that with her husband. Unconsciously, her feet slowed, since she did not want this overheard by any kitchen staff. "There was a time, when I was very young," she said, her voice thicker with emotion, "in which I turned to servants of my own to be there for me in my worst days. It was brief, and I was a child, but I can remember that. I would never want them to feel useless."