Arrow to the Heart (Louisiana Plantation Collection) by Blake Jennifer

Author:Blake, Jennifer [Blake, Jennifer]
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Tags: Romance
Publisher: Steel Magnolia Press
Published: 2012-07-06T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter Eleven

When the meal was over and Katrine had stacked their dishes back on the tray, Rowan returned it to the dumbwaiter. He would send everything back down to the basement and check to see if Delphia had sent up any of the things they had requested. Katrine, taking advantage of his absence, washed her face and hands with water in the pitcher and bowl. Pouring the water that was left into the chamber pot, she took it away downstairs to the darkened conservatory where she emptied it into the floor drain that was used for washing down the marble floor, and that emptied into the lake.

She stood for a moment, staring up at the cupola where lightning flashed in a muted glow now and then, as if it was some distance away. The rain had slackened; it could barely be heard above the splashing of the fountain. The air was growing cooler, for there were small eddies of steam rising from the warm water in the fountain’s basin.

Who was stoking the fire in the basement’s boiler? she wondered. Was it Delphia, or were there others who were allowed access to the lower room? In ordinary times, the head gardener tended the plants, lighted the wall lamps at nightfall, kept watch on the water flowing from an underground spring into the boiler, and kept the fire going under it during cool weather. In ordinary times.

It was pleasant in the warm, moist space with its smells of earth and greenery. The darkness enfolded her like a soft presence, soothing the restless trepidation inside her. The impulse to remain there, hiding as in sanctuary, was strong inside her. That would be the cowardly way, however. Besides, the safety was only an illusion; the person she most needed to hide from was locked up with her.

Returning upstairs, she put the chamber pot in the dressing room. She was standing with her back to the fire, warming her hands held behind her, when Rowan rejoined her.

“Clothes,” she exclaimed as she saw what was in his hands.

He gave her a crooked smile. “Of a sort,” he said as he tossed something soft and white at her.

She saw what he meant at once. Delphia had sent her the nightgown she had mentioned, but it was the oldest Katrine owned, one she was sure she had told Delphia to dispose of long ago. It had lost its ribbon tie at the neck, was raveling at the hem, and its lightweight muslin had grown thin from many washings. It was not quite opaque, except in dim light. Thankfully the light in the tower was seldom bright.

Her attention was caught as Rowan laid a musical instrument on the seat of a wing-back chair. It was not a guitar, she saw, but rather a mandolin. Beside it, he placed a bundle she recognized as the Berlin work she had been planning to take on the steamboat. Then he shook out the garments he had been given, holding them up with one hand.

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