marriage as he had from their conjugal bed, a circumstance, she admitted, not without favor. Her stomach rumbled. She clamped a hand to her middle as if to still the vulgar sound while she watched Thomas carefully take apart the chandelier.
St. Ryne stood quietly in the doorway of the dining room. The manor was a veritable beehive of activity. It would appear half the village had come to help clean Larchside, undoubtedly out of curiosity more than any other reason. Were they sated? What stories would be passed over a mug of ale, in the shops, and on the road? He watched Elizabeth directing the efforts of a strapping young man removing the chandelier. She was concentrating intensely and a small frown played across her features. The hem of her gown was black, the large cook’s apron she’d tied on over her dress was streaked with gray, and a smudge graced her cheek-bone. A hideous kerchief covered her glorious hair, though a few wisps escaped to curl and cling to her damp brow. Shadows were lengthening, and it would soon be too dark to work. St. Ryne felt a curious tightening in his chest as he watched her. Was this his shrew? His Katharine?
He saw her press her hand to her middle. Was she not well?
“My lady.” His voice sounded rusty and harsh to his ears.
She whirled around to face him, a slight flush creeping up to stain her cheeks. He cleared his throat, but the tightening in his chest seemed to have affected his voice as well.
“St. Ryne?” she queried, a watchful wariness in her voice.
“It appears all the dirt of Larchside has been transferred upon your person.” He managed a slight smirk to cover his confusion.
Elizabeth stepped toward him, a self-mocking smile upon her lips. “It is not to be surprised.”
“How so? Are there not servants to attend to the manor?”
Her smile vanished. “Nay, sir, there are not! These are good village folk, come to help clean this wretched sty, and come more out of curiosity than for coin.”
St. Ryne’s eyes flew to Thomas poised on the ladder, listening intently to their conversation.
Elizabeth caught his glance and flushed anew.
“Thomas,” she said carefully, drawing herself to her fullest height, her hands placed primly before her. “I fear it is too dark to do more today. We may cause the chandelier to fall if we work in fading light. Will you come tomorrow?”
“Certainly, my lady.” Thomas scampered down the ladder, his inquisitive eyes capering between the Viscountess and Viscount.
“Thank you. Please convey my thanks to the others and ask that they return tomorrow as well, if they please.”
“Yes, my lady.”
After Thomas left, Elizabeth smiled, recalling her day’s labors. St. Ryne, seeing her secret smile, wished he knew her thoughts and fleetingly regretted she did not smile so for him.
“They worked hard today,” she said softly. She glanced ruefully down at the soiled apron covering her dress. “I could not begin to direct their labors without knowing what must needs be done myself.”
St. Ryne raised an eyebrow. “To judge what must be done requires doing?”
“To judge what will stay and go, to examine long-closed rooms and shut-away items, in short answer, yes.” She rounded on him, tiring of the smirks and innuendos she perceived. He would not again get the best of her in a verbal duel. “Lest you would desire to live in a sty or stable. If that is the case, I can in good conscience recommend the stable. I haven’t sent anyone to clean there.”
“Pray, don’t.”
“Why ever not?”
“In truth, I am debating the merits of removing the structure entirely and building anew.”
“Ah, I comprehend the matter,” she said, nodding sagely. “The best for one’s horse, forsake the rest. Or am I to remove there when it is completed? No, forgive me, my tongue runs away with me. I am not a mount you choose to ride.”
Appalled at her words, Elizabeth turned hastily from St. Ryne, missing entirely that gentleman’s
St. Ryne stood quietly in the doorway of the dining room. The manor was a veritable beehive of activity. It would appear half the village had come to help clean Larchside, undoubtedly out of curiosity more than any other reason. Were they sated? What stories would be passed over a mug of ale, in the shops, and on the road? He watched Elizabeth directing the efforts of a strapping young man removing the chandelier. She was concentrating intensely and a small frown played across her features. The hem of her gown was black, the large cook’s apron she’d tied on over her dress was streaked with gray, and a smudge graced her cheek-bone. A hideous kerchief covered her glorious hair, though a few wisps escaped to curl and cling to her damp brow. Shadows were lengthening, and it would soon be too dark to work. St. Ryne felt a curious tightening in his chest as he watched her. Was this his shrew? His Katharine?
He saw her press her hand to her middle. Was she not well?
“My lady.” His voice sounded rusty and harsh to his ears.
She whirled around to face him, a slight flush creeping up to stain her cheeks. He cleared his throat, but the tightening in his chest seemed to have affected his voice as well.
“St. Ryne?” she queried, a watchful wariness in her voice.
“It appears all the dirt of Larchside has been transferred upon your person.” He managed a slight smirk to cover his confusion.
Elizabeth stepped toward him, a self-mocking smile upon her lips. “It is not to be surprised.”
“How so? Are there not servants to attend to the manor?”
Her smile vanished. “Nay, sir, there are not! These are good village folk, come to help clean this wretched sty, and come more out of curiosity than for coin.”
St. Ryne’s eyes flew to Thomas poised on the ladder, listening intently to their conversation.
Elizabeth caught his glance and flushed anew.
“Thomas,” she said carefully, drawing herself to her fullest height, her hands placed primly before her. “I fear it is too dark to do more today. We may cause the chandelier to fall if we work in fading light. Will you come tomorrow?”
“Certainly, my lady.” Thomas scampered down the ladder, his inquisitive eyes capering between the Viscountess and Viscount.
“Thank you. Please convey my thanks to the others and ask that they return tomorrow as well, if they please.”
“Yes, my lady.”
After Thomas left, Elizabeth smiled, recalling her day’s labors. St. Ryne, seeing her secret smile, wished he knew her thoughts and fleetingly regretted she did not smile so for him.
“They worked hard today,” she said softly. She glanced ruefully down at the soiled apron covering her dress. “I could not begin to direct their labors without knowing what must needs be done myself.”
St. Ryne raised an eyebrow. “To judge what must be done requires doing?”
“To judge what will stay and go, to examine long-closed rooms and shut-away items, in short answer, yes.” She rounded on him, tiring of the smirks and innuendos she perceived. He would not again get the best of her in a verbal duel. “Lest you would desire to live in a sty or stable. If that is the case, I can in good conscience recommend the stable. I haven’t sent anyone to clean there.”
“Pray, don’t.”
“Why ever not?”
“In truth, I am debating the merits of removing the structure entirely and building anew.”
“Ah, I comprehend the matter,” she said, nodding sagely. “The best for one’s horse, forsake the rest. Or am I to remove there when it is completed? No, forgive me, my tongue runs away with me. I am not a mount you choose to ride.”
Appalled at her words, Elizabeth turned hastily from St. Ryne, missing entirely that gentleman’s
Similar Books
