[ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
.Butterworth.She could not help noticing that he had shortened his rather daunting stride to match her steps.“Do you know, sir, that Blair used to get so impatient with me when I had to skip to keep up with him?”“Silly chuff,” he said, with his usual air of complacency.“Why on earth would a man want to hurry along a woman of good sense? Savor the moment, I say.”She smiled at him, but he only sighed and tucked her arm deeper within the crook of his own.“Was a time, Miss Milton, that you would have laughed at a statement like that,” he admonished.“Nothing seems so funny anymore,” she said finally, as she walked up the steps with him, comfortable in the thought that he would not scold her for melancholy, or command her to buck up and think of others.Thank goodness you saw me from the window, she thought.And now Jane stood in front of his door, which was opened magically, as she had known somehow it would be, by a butler who must have had hearing acuity exceeding that of gossips or Springer spaniels.“Excellent, excellent, Marsh,” Mr.Butterworth was saying.“We’ll be having tea, if you will be so kind.”She sighed and pulled her cloak tighter around her.“… I had tea at the vicar’s, and ….”“… and then you have not had tea … he interrupted.“Tea and cakes, Miss Milton, the gooier the better, and you can tell me why you were pacing in front of my property ….”“… Oh, I couldn't have been actually pacing,” she interrupted, exasperated with herself.“You were,” he said firmly, “… talking only to yourself, when surely you must have some inkling that I have always shown myself willing to listen.”She stood there in the doorway, neither in nor out, struck by the truth of what he had just said.While he took her arm and encouraged her over the threshold, and then lifted her sopping cloak from her shoulders and handed it to the butler, she thought about all the times he had approached her at one village gathering or another.He was always willing to let her chat about Andrew, and never seemed bored by what Lady Carruthers sniffed at as her totally inadequate social sense.And always there were his wonderful brown eyes, and the excitement that seemed to jump from him like little sparks.I have been missing you, she thought suddenly as she took his proffered arm again and let him lead her toward the sitting room.All the months of Blair’s illness, then mourning, came to her now in a rush of feeling that brought unexpected tears to her eyes.She looked away in embarrassment.“You may find a dry place in the laundry for Miss Milton’s cloak,” he was saying smoothly, as though she had turned away to admire his wallpaper.“I’m not staying long,” she told the butler, who only smiled and nodded and bore off her cloak anyway.“Even the butler does not listen to me,” she said as Mr.Butterworth showed her upstairs and into the sitting room that overlooked the front entrance.She went directly to the window, hoping to give herself a moment to regain her composure.It would be dark soon, she thought, but with only a little sadness.Another year has turned.She heard someone open the door.“And when I turn around, I will see the footman bearing irresistibles.Ah, yes.Not a moment too soon.”With a smile, she allowed Mr.Butterworth to direct her to a chair and preside over the pouring of the tea, as though the house were hers.She knew his sugar requirements from the long practice of watching him at other gatherings, and added three lumps before handing over the cup and saucer.“Lovely china, Mr.Butterworth,” she commented.He accepted the cup from her.“It is nice, isn’t it?” he agreed, then smiled at her.“Those of us who smell of the shop are conspicuous consumers.”It was their little joke through the years.She sipped her tea, savoring it before she even tasted it, because she knew from the servants that Mr.Butterworth only bought the best.She thought of Andrew, who, when he was five and introduced to Mr.Butterworth for the first time, sniffed the air around the man and announced to his astounded aunt, “He smells just fine.Far better than Lord Marchant.”“You’re thinking of Andrew,” Mr.Butterworth said, offering her a plateful of pastries which she had no intention of refusing.“I am,” she agreed, slipping off her wet shoes, which the footman promptly placed before the fireplace
[ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]