Page 30 of His Unforgettable Bride
Juliet shifted her focus to Livy. “There’s nothing to forgive. I’m much obliged for all your kind help.”
“It will be our pleasure, dearie. We’ll take the instructions one day at a time.” Livy untucked a lacy handkerchief and dabbed delicately at the edges of her eyes. “I’ve always suspected I’d make a superior teacher.”
“No doubt you will,” he said. A moment passed before he added, “Was anything in your shipment salvageable?”
Livy shook her head, her curls bouncing. “All of it shattered. It will be a shame, but we may need to postpone the open house due to the broken china and the slow pace of the renovations.”
Undoubtedly, he could hammer a nail, but converting a stable into a workable tearoom stirred up doubts. Perhaps after he viewed the building’s interior and learned what work remained on the project, he could gauge how to proceed. “If possible, I shall look at your future tearoom tomorrow.”
“Let’s assess how you feel in the morning and go from there, young man.”
“Juliet suggested I begin going by the name Gray. I concur with the plan.”
Livy nodded. “Well, it is your name.”
Truthfully, he could be a Sherwood or a servant like Juliet. But based on his speech alone, he doubted the second possibility. He had a whole life waiting for him somewhere. Now he just had to find it.
Nine
There is a happy medium between mumbling
and screaming. Strive to attain it.
“Never mutter, drone, or stutter,” Juliet whispered as she entered the empty dining room. She liked muttering and saw no reason to stop, provided she did it privately. Livy’s other specific instructions were tastier to swallow.
Juliet glanced at the shiny brass clock on the dining room mantel she’d polished two days before. Her first formal etiquette lesson was to have begun forty-five minutes ago. Where was Livy, the one leading the instructions tonight?
Juliet carefully lowered a heavy pitcher of water to the sideboard. An oil painting of a distinguished gentleman and his black hunting dog hung on the wall and stared back at her. Most likely, he was the sisters’ esteemed father, though he barely resembled his daughters, other than the grimace he shared with Tabitha.
Livy poked her head into the room. A crocheted shawl covered her shoulders, and she’d fastened a small doily adornment with a pink ribbon into her curly hair. Evidently, she dressed to please herself. “I seem to have misplaced my manners manual. Have you seen it?”
In addition to running late, Livy also tended to lose things. “I don’t believe it’s in here.”
“Very well. After it’s found, we’ll start your instructions in earnest. But before I forget, a true lady must have a pure heart. All right, off I go again. Hippity hop.” Livy bustled back down the hallway, heading toward the front door.
A pure heart? What did that mean? Had Juliet done something impure? Not that she could think of. Besides, did anybody on earth genuinely have a pure heart? She hadn’t turned the pages of a Bible in years, but based on her recollections, the answer was no.
Juliet stepped closer to the long dining table she’d set for three upon Icala’s instructions. Candlelight flickered on the white plates with silver trim and sparkled on the abundance of silverware. Who else would join the sisters for supper? Not her since she still preferred eating alone in the kitchen. Perhaps a friend. Or maybe Gray was a possibility, though he hadn’t left the sitting room since his arrival.
Honestly, it could be anyone.
All day her thoughts had drifted to him as she’d cleaned fireplaces, swept floors, and listened to Livy advise her about muttering and such things. She couldn’t stop wondering about his identity. What was his livelihood? Based on his gentlemanly ways, he probably held a gentlemanly job. Was he a banker? A jeweler? An attorney?
Perhaps he was the genuine Alex Sherwood. Nobody else by that name had arrived, and the open house wasn’t that far in the future—approximately five weeks—if they received a new shipment of supplies in time.
Apparently, Alex had agreed in a letter to visit several weeks ago and assist with building the tearoom. Even though he was a gentleman, he’d picked up carpentry skills while living in the wilderness towns of the mountains, where such skills were necessary for survival. If Gray wasn’t him, where was the real nephew, and what kind of man would leave his aunts in a lurch?
A lousy one, for certain.
Even though Gray had an uppity bent, he had surprised her by inquiring about her grandfather and childhood, then listening without interruption. Was there a better gift than someone wanting to hear what a person had to say? She thought not.
“Coming, Juliet!” Livy called from another room. “Go ahead and take a seat.”
Juliet moved to the far end of the table, scooted back a chair, sat, and plopped her elbows on the table’s edge.
Twenty-five random kitchen items for her lesson stared back at her, everything from sugar tongs to a nut pick.
Breathless, Livy rushed into the room, opening her book. When she reached Juliet’s side, she tapped her arm with her manual. “One must never prop her elbows onto the tabletop.”
