Page 13 of Meet A Rogue At Midnight
Jonas gave her a swoon-worthy smile. “Bright and early.”
She’d never swooned a day in her life, but her knees didn’t know that. They were jelly. “Bright and early. I look forward to it.”
He disappeared down the winding stairs. She froze in place, listening to his descending steps until the old oak door scraped open and shut. Grabbing her skirts, she sprinted to the window to watch Jonas walk home. Winter covered the evening world in white. Bits of diamonds could be scattered in the snow, sparkling beautifully. Jonas emerged from the side of the tower, trudging through the fluff. Light from her window cast a mellow glow on the ground, and Jonas walked through it. Gentle wind trifled with his coat. His black boots stopped their trudge. He turned and waved. Nose pressed to cold glass, she waved back.
Was it possible his blue eyes shined clearer and more lively?For her? Palm flat on the icy window, she felt Jonas, his warmth and presence lingering until he disappeared in the night.
Chapter Four
“It does myheart good to see those tools in your hand again.” The Captain picked up a small chisel, the sharp tip no bigger than a child’s littlest finger. “You’ll want this, too, though it needs sharpening.”
The barn-cum-workshop of Braithwaite Furniture and Sons hinted at days past. Patterns for Chippendale chair backs hung from hooks high on a wall from the grandest to humblest designs. Dusty cobwebs fluttered in the corners. Jonas quietly rolled up the chisels and tucked them in his leather satchel. Silence was best when the Captain waxed on about him taking over the business—a thing both men knew would never happen.
The Captain’s eyes narrowed to shrewd slits. “A young man strong as you can do twice the work I did. Oversee twice the laborers…make a tidy income.”
A young man as strong as he was? No. He’d shake Plumtree’s dust off his feet the same as he did ten years ago and leave behind the ridicule.
Big Ox. Dumb oaf. Brainless beast of a man.
Villagers had admonished him in his youth,“Better to use your God-given brawn to make your way in the world, because the good Lord gave your brother all the brains.”
The sting of old taunts haunted him the moment he’d stepped foot in Plumtree two nights ago. He tried to shake them, but the past wouldn’t let go.
Jonas picked up a planer off the workbench, words of the past blistering his soul as if freshly spoke. The Captain had held this same tool, saying years ago,“Your brother will attend St. Mary’s College and study the law. You—” The Captain smoothed the planer up and down the walnut board, wood shavings dropping around his feet. “—you’re better suited to a life of labor. Right here. This shop shall be yours.”
Even the Captain, good man that he was, had unwittingly elevated Jacob over Jonas. His mother had patted Jonas’s arm and bade him to consider the merits of furniture-making.Take over the Braithwaite Furniture and Sons, the Captain and his mother had said.
Instead, Jonas had set fire to the building.
It was an accident, a small fire, as damaging blazes go. Jonas had placed linseed oil too close to an open flame andwhoosh!One beam had been charred to ruin and a fine oak chest of drawers for meant for an earl’s butler had been reduced to ash. The fire had branded him an ungrateful youth in the eyes of Plumtree. Once the destruction was repaired, Jonas packed his things and left as quietly as he’d arrived at the tender age of ten.
The Captain slapped the work bench, snapping Jonas out of the past. “In its finer days, a man could expect three hundred fifty pounds income.”
His grandfather ambled the rough-hewn floors, speaking around his pipe, his cane tapping the floor. The old man wasn’t giving up. Jonas gathered twine, listening as patiently as a grandson ready to leave could.
“Did I tell you Chippendale’s man of business inquired about Braithwaite Furniture and Sons constructing a series of lady’s writing desks?”
Jonas tossed two balls of twine in his satchel. “Odd, since you haven’t been open for business of late.”
The Captain chewed his pipe. “Oh, very well. I wrote Chippendale first. Told him my grandson was coming home.” And his grandfather was off, his enthusiasm churning. “Just think of it. My experience and your strong back.”
“You mean a beast of a man like me…a man with no brains.” He picked up a rusted hammer and dropped it back in the bucket.
His grandfather winced. “You can’t still believe that.”
Jonas tied the satchel. “I don’t.”But the sting of those words will take a long time to fade.
The Captain gripped his cane with both hands, his proud shoulders bowing with age. Or was it grandfatherly guilt at not stemming the critical tide that had washed over Jonas years ago? The old man had always walked through life with his brand of salty-tongued dignity.
His thin lids drooped. “You found your own way. Seeing the world, returning to England and taking a position as man of business for the Earl of Greenwich. That was no small feat. Everyone in the village was quite impressed.”
“And there’s more world I want to see,” Jonas said, tossing the leather satchel over his shoulder. He was long past caring about Plumtree’s good opinion of him.
“By the time I was your age, I’d been married, fathered three children, and buried two of them. Surely you’ll want a wife.”
“And settle into Braithwaite cottage?” He scoffed. “Plumtree’s too small for my taste.”
“It welcomed you and your brother,” the Captain said sharply.
