to the final food preparations, Grace set the table. The aunts had insisted upon using the best china and silver. Grace thought they were going a bit overboard for such a simple affair, but she knew better than to say anything, and so set the table according to their wishes.
When Grace finished, she stepped back and viewed her handiwork. Overboard or not, it was a beautifully set table. A crystal vase of multicolored spring flowers centered the white cloth and the sparkling place settings, adding an elegant touch.
She turned as her aunts entered the dining room. Tulip held a tray of sliced ham and Dahlia followed, carrying a bowl of her famous potato salad.
“Beautiful table, Grace,” a smiling Tulip said, then set the tray down.
“The flowers are lovely, too,” Dahlia echoed. “Vanessa taught you well, my dear.”
Vanessa had been Grace’s mother, and flowers had been one of Vanessa Atwood’s passions. From spring tolate fall, Vanessa deemed no table setting complete unless it contained a vase of blooms from her gardens. After Vanessa’s death, Grace continued the practice because it seemed to keep her mother’s spirit close by.
Grace turned her thoughts away from the melancholy memories the flowers evoked and directed her attention to her aunts. They were dressed for entertaining. Tulip had on blue silk and her sister had chosen a dark green. They’d both had glorious heads of lush red hair in their youth, a legacy passed down from an Irish slaveowner, but now, in the twilight of their years, silver had replaced the vivid coloring. Grace asked a question that she’d been wanting an answer to since Blake’s visit to her office. “May I ask why you’ve taken such a shine to Blake?”
“It isn’t often such a handsome man graces our table,” Tulip replied.
“And if he’s a bounder, we need to know from the outset so you can hire someone else,” Dahlia added practically.
Grace thought that made sense, but still had a feeling the aunts were up to something else entirely. “So you’re not matchmaking?”
Dahlia laughed. “Of course not. This is strictly a get-acquainted dinner. Isn’t it, Tulip?”
“Dahl’s right. Strictly business.”
They both looked quite innocent, but the sound of the door chime prevented Grace from interrogating them further.
Tulip exclaimed, “Oh, he’s here. Grace, dear, you go to the door. Dahl and I will finish bringing out the food.”
They headed back to the kitchen.
When Grace opened the door, the sight of him standing there so tall and handsome with his wide-brimmed hat in his hand made her heart skip a beat. Once again,he was dressed like a man of the West. Beneath his long black coat she could see a gray shirt, a pair of black trousers, and a beautiful black leather vest detailed with silver. His dark face looked freshly shaven, and the devilish beard and mustache had been trimmed. His handsomeness exuded a manly power that commanded a woman’s attention. “Good evening, Mr. Blake.”
He nodded, saying, “Evening, Miss Atwood.”
Forcing herself to look away lest she drown in his eyes, she stepped aside so he could enter the house. “Were the directions helpful?”
“Very. I had no problems.”
“Good. Hand me your coat and hat.”
She hung them on the peg near the door. “My aunts are waiting. This way, please.”
Jackson followed her, feasting his eyes on the soft sway of her walk. She looked fine in the gray dress, mighty fine, he thought to himself. The curled upswept hair made her seem more like a woman and less like the bossy banker he’d been treated to so far. He cast an eye around the surroundings. The modest house with its paintings and good furniture seemed like a natural setting for Grace. She’d impressed him as a cultured, well-to-do woman, and her home reflected that.
After welcoming pleasantries were shared with the aunts, everyone went into the dining room. Blake helped the aunts with their chairs and his gentlemanly
When Grace finished, she stepped back and viewed her handiwork. Overboard or not, it was a beautifully set table. A crystal vase of multicolored spring flowers centered the white cloth and the sparkling place settings, adding an elegant touch.
She turned as her aunts entered the dining room. Tulip held a tray of sliced ham and Dahlia followed, carrying a bowl of her famous potato salad.
“Beautiful table, Grace,” a smiling Tulip said, then set the tray down.
“The flowers are lovely, too,” Dahlia echoed. “Vanessa taught you well, my dear.”
Vanessa had been Grace’s mother, and flowers had been one of Vanessa Atwood’s passions. From spring tolate fall, Vanessa deemed no table setting complete unless it contained a vase of blooms from her gardens. After Vanessa’s death, Grace continued the practice because it seemed to keep her mother’s spirit close by.
Grace turned her thoughts away from the melancholy memories the flowers evoked and directed her attention to her aunts. They were dressed for entertaining. Tulip had on blue silk and her sister had chosen a dark green. They’d both had glorious heads of lush red hair in their youth, a legacy passed down from an Irish slaveowner, but now, in the twilight of their years, silver had replaced the vivid coloring. Grace asked a question that she’d been wanting an answer to since Blake’s visit to her office. “May I ask why you’ve taken such a shine to Blake?”
“It isn’t often such a handsome man graces our table,” Tulip replied.
“And if he’s a bounder, we need to know from the outset so you can hire someone else,” Dahlia added practically.
Grace thought that made sense, but still had a feeling the aunts were up to something else entirely. “So you’re not matchmaking?”
Dahlia laughed. “Of course not. This is strictly a get-acquainted dinner. Isn’t it, Tulip?”
“Dahl’s right. Strictly business.”
They both looked quite innocent, but the sound of the door chime prevented Grace from interrogating them further.
Tulip exclaimed, “Oh, he’s here. Grace, dear, you go to the door. Dahl and I will finish bringing out the food.”
They headed back to the kitchen.
When Grace opened the door, the sight of him standing there so tall and handsome with his wide-brimmed hat in his hand made her heart skip a beat. Once again,he was dressed like a man of the West. Beneath his long black coat she could see a gray shirt, a pair of black trousers, and a beautiful black leather vest detailed with silver. His dark face looked freshly shaven, and the devilish beard and mustache had been trimmed. His handsomeness exuded a manly power that commanded a woman’s attention. “Good evening, Mr. Blake.”
He nodded, saying, “Evening, Miss Atwood.”
Forcing herself to look away lest she drown in his eyes, she stepped aside so he could enter the house. “Were the directions helpful?”
“Very. I had no problems.”
“Good. Hand me your coat and hat.”
She hung them on the peg near the door. “My aunts are waiting. This way, please.”
Jackson followed her, feasting his eyes on the soft sway of her walk. She looked fine in the gray dress, mighty fine, he thought to himself. The curled upswept hair made her seem more like a woman and less like the bossy banker he’d been treated to so far. He cast an eye around the surroundings. The modest house with its paintings and good furniture seemed like a natural setting for Grace. She’d impressed him as a cultured, well-to-do woman, and her home reflected that.
After welcoming pleasantries were shared with the aunts, everyone went into the dining room. Blake helped the aunts with their chairs and his gentlemanly
Similar Books
