A Viscount for the Spinster: A Second Chance Regency Romance (Spinsters and Rebels Book 1) by Samantha Holt

Author:Samantha Holt [Holt, Samantha]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Helstone Press
Published: 2023-07-26T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter Fifteen

Maisie skimmed the charcoal over the page, elbow upon the table and her chin propped upon her knuckles. She eyed the crossed off tasks, her lip curling in annoyance. Every time she struck something off, she found something else to do. The roof was now repaired but the damage from rain seeping in would need addressing. She stared at the front door and let the charcoal wander aimlessly over the blank space at the bottom of the paper.

“Ugh.” She set down the charcoal and eyed the mess of lines she’d created on her otherwise perfectly penned list. Brow furrowed, she shook her head.

“It’s not him. You most certainly have not drawn him. It’s simply your imagination.”

It had to be. Though she enjoyed sketching as a girl, she hadn’t drawn a thing for years. Aunt June did not approve of sketching. She thought it too unskilled if one did not at least pick up a paintbrush. So her curving doodles were not the outline of deep, dark eyes and the straight slashes weren’t turning into the outline of Apollo’s jaw. She most certainly hadn’t even attempted his lips—lips that had no place on her list and most certainly not in her mind. Their conversation should have put paid to any thoughts of lips and kissing Apollo.

“Well, this won’t do.”

She moved out from behind the front desk, undid the apron from around her waist and switched it for her pelisse. The delicate pink lined with double fabric covered buttons hardly suited her striped muslin gown but most of her wardrobe was more fitting for strolling the parks of London than Oakfield.

She refused to invest in new clothing, though. Every penny of her inheritance was going to be ploughed into the inn. Her ignorance at the cost of repairing the building and setting it up as a business again was a little embarrassing. There would be no financial cushion and the thought of returning to her brother after having proclaimed her freedom made her stomach churn.

“Some year of independence this is,” she muttered. There was no denying it. She’d lingered here too long in the hopes Apollo might turn up.

Maisie bit back a growl of frustration at how long it took to do up all the buttons. Perhaps when she made a profit, she would invest in something more suited to a landlady and with fewer bloody buttons.

Pulling the collar high about her face to combat the breeze whistling its way past the buildings, she tightened the ribbon of her bonnet and kept her head low. She stepped gratefully into the shelter of the village shop and inhaled the fragrances of fresh spices and sweet sugar. Mr. Morris must have had a new delivery and no one in the village would ask quite how he got such exotic ingredients to the village, especially when the prices were too low to have been shipped in legitimately.

She glanced around the shop, noting the flour and sugar containers full to the brim and the sacks of potatoes propped up against the wall.

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