A Second Chance for Love by Minerva Spencer

Author:Minerva Spencer [Spencer, Minerva]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2020-04-14T23:00:00+00:00

Eleven

Oona woke with a start, her eyes darting around the dimly lighted room, struggling to recall where she was.

In bed at a farmhouse. With Juss.

Her head whipped to the right, but the bed was empty.

She pushed back the covers and put on her dressing gown, a garment Juss had chosen, its creamy lace and silk making her blush just looking at it.

Oona scoffed at her foolishness. She’d slept with the man and he’d clearly been able to resist her, silky lacy garment or not.

She pushed aside the heavy drape and sucked in a breath. It was a magical wonderland, the pale lemon sunrise causing everything in sight to sparkle as if diamonds, rather than snow, had fallen—continued to fall. Something moved in her peripheral vision and she turned to see Juss and his barrel-shaped coachman slogging through the snow from the big white barn.

Naturally, Juss glanced up and caught her, his mouth curving into a grin. Oona dropped the curtain, and immediately felt foolish. He’d seen her in her dressing gown last night, why was she behaving like a schoolroom miss?

You spent the night in bed with him and you are disappointed he made no move to touch you.

Oona growled at her stupidity and found her watch: it was a little after seven.

After washing with the still warm basin of water Juss must have brought, Oona headed down to the kitchen, feeling more than a little foolish in her second travelling costume, which was even fancier than the first. But it was all she had that was clean.

The first person she saw upon entering the cozy, delicious smelling kitchen was Mrs. Cantrell.

“Good morning dear.” She squinted at Oona. “My, that’s a lovely outfit.”

Oona flushed. “I’m afraid all my other clothing is in the other carriage.”

“Aye, your husband told us.”

Oona glanced at the bubbling pots on the stove and Mrs. Cantrell’s floury hands. “What smells so delicious?”

“Steak and kidney pie, a few loaves of bread, and some tarts. But you don’t need to stand in the kitchen, Mrs. Taylor. Mr. Cantrell has warmed up the parlor and I can bring you tea and breakfast.”

“Please call me Oona. And I’d prefer to eat in the kitchen, if you don’t mind having me.”

“Oona—that’s a beautiful name. Well, you can call me Mary. Would you like ham and eggs, dear?”

“Just tea and some toast, I think.”

“You’re like me,” Mary said, putting the kettle on the stove. “I can’t eat a heavy meal in the morning or I’ll sleep all day.”

Oona gestured to the big bucket of potatoes. “I can peel those for you.”

“Oh no, you’ll get your pretty clothing dirty.”

“I see a second apron over there—is that your daughter’s?”

“Aye.” She looked doubtful, her cloudy eyes sweeping over Oona’s person.

“Please? I’d like to help.”

It took a bit more cajoling, but Oona was rolling out pastry when Juss came in from the cold an hour later.

“Well, look who’s up,” Juss teased, so vital and masculine and gorgeous with his rosy cheeks it was almost painful to look at him.

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