An American Duchess by Fyffe Caroline

Author:Fyffe, Caroline [Fyffe, Caroline]
Language: eng
Format: azw3, epub
Published: 2019-06-24T16:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

Embarrassed, Charlotte took the ladder rungs one hand over the other. The loft wasn’t large, but the roof was tall enough to store hay, which meant she could easily stand, but Mr. Llewellyn would need to hunch over, just a little, like Thomas had to do when he came up here. She liked the loft. As a girl, she’d often escaped her aunt’s complaints by sneaking away when the work was done and climbing up into the warmth—or cold, depending on the season. The privacy was golden. She loved the sound of the rain on the roof so close to her head. She could imagine a limitless world from up here. And now, she’d have her very own carrier pigeon, to write notes with the American duchess. She blinked away her surprise and delight.

She made her way to the loft door and pushed it open, showcasing the lovely view of Brightshire. Winding Creek was only thirty or so feet away, and the cobbler and dress shop next door were even closer. With her emotions finally corralled, she turned back to face Tristen.

He’d followed, with the pigeon cooing uneasily in its new surroundings.

“I didn’t mean to upset you, talking about the animals.” He was searching her eyes. “People need to eat, there’s no exception to that. And make a living.”

“How is the duchess?” she asked, to move away from the hurtful subject. “I haven’t seen her or anyone else from Ashbury for two weeks.” Her face turned pink. “Well, Mr. Winters did stop by for some tarts. But only for a moment.”

“I’m not surprised.” With a set mouth, Tristen placed the carrier onto a mound of grass hay and gazed out the window at the scenery.

She flushed. Had she said something to anger him? His manner had gone from friendly to annoyed. “This is where I thought the coop would work, here out of the way.” They should hurry or Aunt Ethel would come out.

As she pointed, an Adonis butterfly flittered into the open loft window and landed on the pigeon cage, its large wings beating slowly. She gasped. “Look!”

“That’s a male,” Tristen said.

“How do you know?”

“Females are chocolate brown. The male uses the vibrant color to attract a mate.”

Her cheeks heated. She liked that he knew so much about animals. “I can see how a female would be attracted,” she whispered, not wanting to frighten their visitor away. She chanced a quick glance at Tristen, thinking he needed no blue coloring to help him. Not with his expressive eyes, strong jaw, and chiseled lips. “Isn’t that the most exquisite color you’ve ever seen? Every time one of these beauties crosses my path”—she moved a bit closer—“I imagine a gorgeous silk dress covered in glittery stones. Then the music begins and I . . .”

Embarrassed, she snapped her mouth closed. How silly he must think her. A country baker, dreaming of Adonis-blue gowns and dancing in a ballroom. Conscious of his eyes on her, she watched as the butterfly took to the air and glided out the window without so much as a by-your-leave.

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