Tempting Mr. Weatherstone: A Wallflower Wedding Novella (Originally Appeared in the E-Book Anthology FIVE GOLDEN RINGS) by Vivienne Lorret Page B
Authors: Vivienne Lorret
Ads: Link
when she mentioned how the country air must have given him quite the appetite, he averted his gaze.
For her, something monumental had occurred between them. Something that changed her entire outlook. Something that made her hope for the first time in . . . forever. Surely, their relationship wasn’t destined to remain the same. The specter of her future was far away. In place of the old woman at her needlework was a life filled with dark, passionate kisses and a love that was its own adventure.
Yes, she would be very happy to have many more adventures like the one she had with Ethan yesterday morning. She wouldn’t even mind if kisses were somehow worked into their daily routine.
She smiled on a sip of wine and glanced down to her plate, situated, as usual, to the left of his. “The roasted parsnips are particularly fine. Wouldn’t you agree, Mr. Weatherstone?”
For the first time since they stopped here in their separate carriages, he regarded her. A look of relief washed over him as he nodded. “Very fine, Miss Rutledge. And how did you find the beets?”
“Fair. But not nearly as fine as your Minerva’s beets.” She wasn’t entirely sure she liked that look of relief. It certainly didn’t bode well for where her thoughts were at this precise moment. Because she was still wondering how to approach the topic of scheduled kisses. Perhaps once they were settled, she would join him for a morning walk in the country and discuss it.
She could picture their debate clearly in her mind. He would suggest Tuesdays and Thursdays before dinner, and she would state that Wednesdays and Fridays after dessert would be better, simply for the sake of being contrary.
“I see your ankle has recovered from yesterday morning,” Abigail Weatherstone commented from across the table, startling her from her musings. “You were so fortunate to have Ethan so close at hand.”
She did her best to hide her blush behind her wineglass. Abigail had a way of being too direct at times, and her gaze now told Penelope that she suspected something other than a morning walk had gone on between them.
“Yes, very,” she said quickly. “As you suggested, I do believe resting in the carriage was the best thing for it. I used the time to work on the most beautiful butterfly. I’d love to show you after dinner.”
“I would like that,” she said with a smile, but her direct gaze remained. “I’ve always been fascinated with butterflies. For so long, they go about seemingly unnoticed, then one day they are transformed, and the world suddenly changes. For the better, I think. Wouldn’t you agree?”
Penelope nodded, knowing that an understanding had passed between them. An uncontrollable smile curved her mouth. “Yes, very much so.”
Abigail lifted her glass. “To butterflies, my dear?”
She reached forward and touched Abigail’s glass with a clink.
“What say you, Ethan?” her father asked with a chuckle from the opposite end of the table. “Shall we toast to a more manly insect? Perhaps a centipede?”
However, the joke appeared to have been lost on Ethan, for he did not smile. In fact, he seemed in another world, lost to his own thoughts. Once he realized he was being studied by the group, he cleared his throat. “Yes, of course,” he said, and absently lifted his glass to mimic the rest of them.
P ENELOPE AND A BIGAIL were to share a room, just as Ethan and her father would. However, when she returned to her room, she discovered that her needlework was not with her things. Knowing that her satchel had probably been put in her father’s room, she stepped across the hall, prepared to knock on the door.
Yet, before she could, she encountered Ethan pacing the narrow hall. His cravat was askew and, by the way the wavy locks drooped over his forehead, his hair looked as if he’d run his hands through it repeatedly. Noticing her, he stopped suddenly. The dark worry in his gaze caused her own worry to rise.
“Are you
For her, something monumental had occurred between them. Something that changed her entire outlook. Something that made her hope for the first time in . . . forever. Surely, their relationship wasn’t destined to remain the same. The specter of her future was far away. In place of the old woman at her needlework was a life filled with dark, passionate kisses and a love that was its own adventure.
Yes, she would be very happy to have many more adventures like the one she had with Ethan yesterday morning. She wouldn’t even mind if kisses were somehow worked into their daily routine.
She smiled on a sip of wine and glanced down to her plate, situated, as usual, to the left of his. “The roasted parsnips are particularly fine. Wouldn’t you agree, Mr. Weatherstone?”
For the first time since they stopped here in their separate carriages, he regarded her. A look of relief washed over him as he nodded. “Very fine, Miss Rutledge. And how did you find the beets?”
“Fair. But not nearly as fine as your Minerva’s beets.” She wasn’t entirely sure she liked that look of relief. It certainly didn’t bode well for where her thoughts were at this precise moment. Because she was still wondering how to approach the topic of scheduled kisses. Perhaps once they were settled, she would join him for a morning walk in the country and discuss it.
She could picture their debate clearly in her mind. He would suggest Tuesdays and Thursdays before dinner, and she would state that Wednesdays and Fridays after dessert would be better, simply for the sake of being contrary.
“I see your ankle has recovered from yesterday morning,” Abigail Weatherstone commented from across the table, startling her from her musings. “You were so fortunate to have Ethan so close at hand.”
She did her best to hide her blush behind her wineglass. Abigail had a way of being too direct at times, and her gaze now told Penelope that she suspected something other than a morning walk had gone on between them.
“Yes, very,” she said quickly. “As you suggested, I do believe resting in the carriage was the best thing for it. I used the time to work on the most beautiful butterfly. I’d love to show you after dinner.”
“I would like that,” she said with a smile, but her direct gaze remained. “I’ve always been fascinated with butterflies. For so long, they go about seemingly unnoticed, then one day they are transformed, and the world suddenly changes. For the better, I think. Wouldn’t you agree?”
Penelope nodded, knowing that an understanding had passed between them. An uncontrollable smile curved her mouth. “Yes, very much so.”
Abigail lifted her glass. “To butterflies, my dear?”
She reached forward and touched Abigail’s glass with a clink.
“What say you, Ethan?” her father asked with a chuckle from the opposite end of the table. “Shall we toast to a more manly insect? Perhaps a centipede?”
However, the joke appeared to have been lost on Ethan, for he did not smile. In fact, he seemed in another world, lost to his own thoughts. Once he realized he was being studied by the group, he cleared his throat. “Yes, of course,” he said, and absently lifted his glass to mimic the rest of them.
P ENELOPE AND A BIGAIL were to share a room, just as Ethan and her father would. However, when she returned to her room, she discovered that her needlework was not with her things. Knowing that her satchel had probably been put in her father’s room, she stepped across the hall, prepared to knock on the door.
Yet, before she could, she encountered Ethan pacing the narrow hall. His cravat was askew and, by the way the wavy locks drooped over his forehead, his hair looked as if he’d run his hands through it repeatedly. Noticing her, he stopped suddenly. The dark worry in his gaze caused her own worry to rise.
“Are you
Similar Books
