Fourteen
Late the next day
N
ever again.”
“What?” Brandon’s brows furrowed.
“I’m never stepping foot in another carriage as long as I live.”
“Ah, Lore. Quit your complaining. I’m the one who was stuck inside. I shoulda been on horseback like a real man.”
Lorelei paid the driver and sent him on his way, just as a plop of rain hit her nose. She stepped over Spixworth’s threshold. “Smells musty.”
Brandon dropped the bag he toted inside the door. “Ye gads. Did something die?”
“One of your old frogs is my guess.”
Brandon shook his head and went back out the door.
Lorelei did a short walk-through, opening windows though it was raining and on the cold side. She was exhausted, but the beds needed fresh linens. She and Brandon would be busy setting up fires in the grates. There was no rest for the weary as the old biblical quote went. Or something similar.
Brandon came in carrying wood from the shed and set to lighting the fire in the drawing room.
Once it caught, Lorelei closed the window then sat down, and watched the kindling spark to life.
Brandon sat down next to her. She wrapped an arm around his and leaned her cheek against his shoulder. “I’m sorry about your locket, Lore. You should have let me keep that sixteen shillings.”
“It was wrong, Bran. We made it home, didn’t we? Let’s be thankful for that. It’s you and me. There’s no one to look after us but us now.”
“Yes. Are you sorry we’re home?” he asked.
She smiled, not lifting her head. “Not considering the alternative. But I hate that you have to worry about food, shelter, and clothing. You’re too young.”
“Apparently, I’m not, as that’s all I’ve been thinking of since you demanded that discussion yesterday.” He sounded so grown up, so mature.
“My purpose wasn’t to make you worry. Likely, I can take in some sewing from the village. We’ll have to tend the garden ourselves now with no help.”
Someone pounded on the door. Someone angry.
She jumped to her feet and dashed to the window. She saw no carriage. “You didn’t tell anyone we were coming home, did you?” she demanded in a harsh whisper.
“No! Did you?”
“Only Ginny. But she wouldn’t tell anyone.”
“Who is it?”
“I don’t know. Run upstairs and get Papa’s pistol. It’s in his old chamber. In the wardrobe.”
“We have a pistol?” His voice was a high, yet quiet enough squeal. “Does it work?”
“Go! I won’t open the door until you’re upstairs. Stand at the ready. If it’s Shufflebottom, we may have to bury a body.”
Brandon shot out of the room, clambering up the stairs.
Lorelei winced but went out into the foyer.
