“Do you think she’d like it?” Bleu asked, studying the house with fresh eyes.
Titus came to stand beside him, his gaze rising to the gable roof. “She used to say she missed her old brick house, so aye… oroui.”
Bleu chuckled. He’d almost used stone but was suddenly glad he’d chosen brick.
“I do miss it,” came a familiar voice behind them.
Together they turned, Bleu as surprised by Brielle’s sudden appearance as he was Titus hurrying down the hill to join his young friends by the river. She passed by him, going up the house’s steps just as Titus had done. He felt a beat of uncertainty. The house was small, smaller than Orchard Rest. He’d thought to live here himself, alone, so had made it so. And yet it was a house that could easily be added onto…
He followed her inside, wishing the staircase’s handrail was finished. His desire to show her around and gain her approval gave him a bone-deep satisfaction. Delighted, she passed from the wide passageway to the parlor and then crisscrossed to the kitchen before returning, her hands on each side of the doorframe.
“Such a magnificent view!”
He stood behind her, wanting to place his hands about her waist and kiss the little bare spot at the nape of her neck below her upswept braid. Instead he simply savored being closer to her than he’d ever been since that first day when he’d carried her from the crossroads.
“Is this all yours?” she asked, turning round to face him.
“Mine,oui.” What he wanted to say was…ours.
Ours and our children’s and their children’s. Forever and ever.
He didn’t step back. He just looked down at her. They were a hands-breadth apart. She didn’t look away, her eyes luminous… adoring. Or did he only imagine it? His own passionate regard of her nearly got the better of him.
She sighed but it was a contented rather than sad sound. “Much like our brick house in Philadelphia.”
“Tell me more about it.”
“Une belle maison. The foyer was tiled in a black and white fleur-de-lis and a winding stair reached the second floor. Halfway up there was a little alcove where a small porcelain angel from France rested. Papa liked to tease that the only angel he needed wasMaman…” Her voice faltered and she turned toward the view again.
He swallowed past the knot in his own throat. “If she was anything like you I can see why he said so.”
Back to him, she fell silent and he unclasped his hands and placed them on her linen-clad shoulders. Turned away she seemed less a temptation to take in his arms.
But only slightly.
The warmth of Bleu’s hands on her shoulders seeped through her linen dress. His touch drove away any sadness and left her half-melting with the desire to be in his arms. For a few moments Brielle forgot why she’d come up the hill.
“Sylvie asked me to fetch you and Titus for supper,” she finally remembered.
Bleu’s delayed response told her supper was the furthest thing from his mind, too. “Are you hungry?”
She simply nodded. In truth, every meal around the Blackburn’s table only made her hunger for a home of her own. They started down the hill in step as a dog barked in the distance. Noir? The hound was often with the children when Will wasn’t surveying, Sylvie said.
Bleu’s shout seemed to reach the entire settlement. “Titus!”
When Titus came running she reached for his hand, wishing they could go inside the unfinished house instead and fill the rooms with life and laughter. That desire grew tenfold when they walked into Orchard Rest’s dining room and found Will at the head of the table, a smiling Sylvie at the other end, their children ringed around them.
Rather than feel they’d intruded or spoiled a family moment, all of the Blackburns greeted them noisily, pointing out two empty chairs side by side while Titus joined the boys opposite. Brielle darted a look at Bleu and wondered if he felt the same craving for family, a shared future. So far he’d given no indication he did. Wasn’t the unfinished house proof?
“Sylvie has told me what brought you three to our door.” Will began carving a large ham. “You arrived at a good time. Summer has never been so plentiful.”
All the garden’s bounty seemed to have found its way to the long table. Sylvie’s baking was nearly as exemplary as her sewing. Not only were there biscuits but cornbread and an assortment of jams and jellies, pickles and preserves. No one rose from a Blackburn feast hungry.
“And your surveying expedition?” Bleu asked as dishes were passed. “Sylvie said you were in Albemarle County.”
“Aye. Just when I think Virginia has little left to survey this side of the mountains I’m called out again.” Will smiled. “But so long as I can return to this I’ve no complaints.”
Brielle’s thoughts turned toward the unfinished kitchen beyond the orchard. Memories of her parents’ Philadelphia kitchen with its cream crockery and apple-green shelves, the warm hearth that never seemed to fade, the aroma of bakedcaneléwith its custardy-burnt sugar goodness filled her thoughts.
