As she stood there, the most curious melancholy flooded her. He was the only person with whom she’d ever been intimate.Yet she and Montgomery might as well be strangers. Only the unexpected passion they shared bridged their ignorance of each other. Perhaps she should be grateful for that. Was it something every married couple experienced? Would she trade their passion for the ability to talk to Montgomery?
Why couldn’t she have both?
The skirt of her dress was too full, the fabric felt stiff and shiny as if it had been starched. She pressed her hands against the material, and it almost bounced against her fingers. Elspeth was very diligent in her tasks.
At the moment, however, she wasn’t as concerned about her apparel as she was her appearance. Would Montgomery think her pretty? Vanity had never been one of her flaws. How odd to experience it at this point.
She followed the path from the bridge to the distillery, hesitating as a wagon rolled in front of her.
Montgomery saw her, acknowledging her presence with a nod. At least he didn’t banish her. Neither did he stop directing the wagons and their drivers.
The first of the wagons was already being unloaded, and several men she recognized from the staff greeting were assisting in the process. Numerous crates and barrels were revealed when the canvas tops were taken off the wagons. One huge crate, nearly six feet square and almost as tall, required six men, including Montgomery, to carry it.
She could hear his voice as he shouted instructions to the men.
“Be careful of that one, it contains a burner.” A few minutes later came another order: “We need another pair of shoulders over here, lads.”
Even the majordomo was being pressed into service. She would not have been surprised to see Mrs. Brody and all theupstairs maids there as well. However, this endeavor, whatever it was, was evidently a masculine pursuit.
As they disappeared into the yawning abyss of the distillery, she circled one of the wagons, staring at the huge basket inside. It looked like one of the structures she’d seen at the Crystal Exhibition in London. Uncle Bertrand had been quite pleased to get special tickets for that day and had taken his entire family for an outing.
“Is it a balloon?” she asked, when Montgomery emerged from the distillery and drew near.
“That one is, yes. How did you know?”
“The Crystal Exhibition,” she said. “Mr. Green’s balloons. I saw one of them tethered there.”
“It’s what I did in the war,” he said, answering her unspoken question. “Before the war. I’ve always been fascinated with flight.”
“Isn’t it dangerous?”
“Breathing in and out is dangerous,” he said, his expression tightening. “I don’t feel required to solicit your approval, Veronica.”
She truly was surprised. She began to smile.
“Have I said something amusing?”
“No one has ever sought my approval for anything, Montgomery.”
Without saying another word, he turned and walked back into the distillery.
Veronica stepped back to view the contents of other wagons.
Two baskets were lined up, side by side, next to a tall pole. At the top of the pole was a flag, fluttering in the afternoon breeze. Scores of crates were being opened, revealing pipes, metal plates, and parts that looked as if they belonged to the inside of a boiler. Another set of crates was being carried into the distillery by two young men.
She wondered if Montgomery had commandeered them from the stable or from the house itself. Either way, no doubt working on a balloon was more eventful than their normal chores.
The most amazing sight was on the far slope of the glen. There, long stripes of blue and green silk lay on the grass. Next to it was an oval gondola, and a crate markedHANDGRIFF SORGFÄLTIG.
Montgomery came out of the distillery, heading directly for her. She wondered if she was to be banished for her curiosity. She clasped her hands in front of her and attempted to smooth her face of any expression.
“You grew up around here,” he said, reaching her.
She nodded.
“What’s the weather like?”
“The weather?” she asked, surprised.
