pulsebeat there.
"Oh, Mr Melcher… it wouldn't do at all, I'm afraid, much as I'd love a fine pair of city-made shoes."
"Wouldn't do? But why?"
Miss Abigail dropped her eyes. "A lady simply does not accept such a personal gift from a gentleman unless he's…"
"Unless he's what, Miss Abigail?" he asked softly.
She felt herself color and stared at her hem. "Why, Mr Melcher, it simply wouldn't be proper " She looked up to find his brown eyes on her "But I thank you anyway," she added wistfully.
She thought the issue was settled, but at noon Mr Melcher announced he felt good enough to come downstairs to eat his dinner, but apologized for having nothing to put on his feet.
"I believe I can find a pair of Father's slippers here somewhere."
She brought them and knelt before him.
Such a feeling welled up inside David Melcher, watching her. She was genteel, soft-spoken, refined, and each favor she did for him made David Melcher revere her more. He got up shakily, hopping on one foot to catch his balance, and she whisked an arm around his waist while his came about her shoulder.
"The floor is slippery, so hold the banister," she warned.
They started down, one step at a time, and each time he leaned on her, his face came close to her temple. Again she smelled of roses.
Her free hand was on his shirtfront and she felt his chest muscles flex each time he braced on the banister.
"What color would you like, Miss Abigail?" he asked, between jumps.
"Color?" They stopped and she looked up into his face, only inches from hers.
"What color shoes shall I pick for you?" They took one more step.
"Don't be silly, Mr. Melcher." Again they'd stopped, but now she was afraid to raise her eyes to his.
"How about a pale dun-colored kid leather?" He lightly squeezed her shoulder, sending her heart battering around wildly. "They'd look grand with what you're wearing now. Imagine the leather with this soft lace." He touched the lace of her cuff.
"Come… take another step, Mr Melcher."
"I'd be honored if you'd accept the shoes."
She kept her eyes averted, her hand still upon his chest.
"I'd have no place to wear them."
"That I cannot believe. A fine-looking woman like you."
"No… I'd have no place. Please… our dinner is ready." She nudged him, but he resisted, and beneath her hand she felt his heart drumming as rapidly as her own.
"Don't be surprised if a pair of shoes arrives one day for you. Then you'll know I've been thinking of you." His voice was scarcely above a whisper as he murmured, "Miss Abigail…"
At last she looked up to find a multitude of feelings expressed in his eyes. Then his arm tightened upon her shoulder, he squeezed the soft sleeve, the arm beneath. She saw him swallow, and the breath caught in her throat as his pale brown eyes held hers. As his soft lips touched her she again felt the commotion beneath the palm on his chest. His gentle kiss was as light as a sigh upon her lips before he drew back and looked into her liquid gaze. Her heart thrilled, her knees weakened, and for a moment she feared she might tumble headlong down the stairs, so dizzy was she. But then she dropped her lashes demurely, and they continued on their halting, heart-bound way to the kitchen.
It had been years since David Melcher had lived in a house with a kitchen like this. The tabletop was covered with a starched yellow gingham to match the window curtains that lifted in a whispering wind.
Dishes and silver had been precisely laid, and a clean linen napkin lay folded atop his plate. His eyes followed Abigail McKenzie as she brought simple, fragrant foods—three puffed, golden biscuits were dropped on his plate, then she returned with a blue-speckled kettle and spooned thick chunks of chicken and gravy over the top.
"How long has it been since you were home, Mr. Melcher?"
"You might say I have no home. When I go back to Philadelphia, I take a room at the Elysian Club.
Believe me, it's nothing at all like this."
"Then you…
"Oh, Mr Melcher… it wouldn't do at all, I'm afraid, much as I'd love a fine pair of city-made shoes."
"Wouldn't do? But why?"
Miss Abigail dropped her eyes. "A lady simply does not accept such a personal gift from a gentleman unless he's…"
"Unless he's what, Miss Abigail?" he asked softly.
She felt herself color and stared at her hem. "Why, Mr Melcher, it simply wouldn't be proper " She looked up to find his brown eyes on her "But I thank you anyway," she added wistfully.
She thought the issue was settled, but at noon Mr Melcher announced he felt good enough to come downstairs to eat his dinner, but apologized for having nothing to put on his feet.
"I believe I can find a pair of Father's slippers here somewhere."
She brought them and knelt before him.
Such a feeling welled up inside David Melcher, watching her. She was genteel, soft-spoken, refined, and each favor she did for him made David Melcher revere her more. He got up shakily, hopping on one foot to catch his balance, and she whisked an arm around his waist while his came about her shoulder.
"The floor is slippery, so hold the banister," she warned.
They started down, one step at a time, and each time he leaned on her, his face came close to her temple. Again she smelled of roses.
Her free hand was on his shirtfront and she felt his chest muscles flex each time he braced on the banister.
"What color would you like, Miss Abigail?" he asked, between jumps.
"Color?" They stopped and she looked up into his face, only inches from hers.
"What color shoes shall I pick for you?" They took one more step.
"Don't be silly, Mr. Melcher." Again they'd stopped, but now she was afraid to raise her eyes to his.
"How about a pale dun-colored kid leather?" He lightly squeezed her shoulder, sending her heart battering around wildly. "They'd look grand with what you're wearing now. Imagine the leather with this soft lace." He touched the lace of her cuff.
"Come… take another step, Mr Melcher."
"I'd be honored if you'd accept the shoes."
She kept her eyes averted, her hand still upon his chest.
"I'd have no place to wear them."
"That I cannot believe. A fine-looking woman like you."
"No… I'd have no place. Please… our dinner is ready." She nudged him, but he resisted, and beneath her hand she felt his heart drumming as rapidly as her own.
"Don't be surprised if a pair of shoes arrives one day for you. Then you'll know I've been thinking of you." His voice was scarcely above a whisper as he murmured, "Miss Abigail…"
At last she looked up to find a multitude of feelings expressed in his eyes. Then his arm tightened upon her shoulder, he squeezed the soft sleeve, the arm beneath. She saw him swallow, and the breath caught in her throat as his pale brown eyes held hers. As his soft lips touched her she again felt the commotion beneath the palm on his chest. His gentle kiss was as light as a sigh upon her lips before he drew back and looked into her liquid gaze. Her heart thrilled, her knees weakened, and for a moment she feared she might tumble headlong down the stairs, so dizzy was she. But then she dropped her lashes demurely, and they continued on their halting, heart-bound way to the kitchen.
It had been years since David Melcher had lived in a house with a kitchen like this. The tabletop was covered with a starched yellow gingham to match the window curtains that lifted in a whispering wind.
Dishes and silver had been precisely laid, and a clean linen napkin lay folded atop his plate. His eyes followed Abigail McKenzie as she brought simple, fragrant foods—three puffed, golden biscuits were dropped on his plate, then she returned with a blue-speckled kettle and spooned thick chunks of chicken and gravy over the top.
"How long has it been since you were home, Mr. Melcher?"
"You might say I have no home. When I go back to Philadelphia, I take a room at the Elysian Club.
Believe me, it's nothing at all like this."
"Then you…
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