Page 41 of Almost a Bride
The next morning when Roselyn left the bake house, she gave a little start as she saw Charlotte standing in the courtyard, grinning at her.
“Good day, Roselyn!” the girl called. “I tried the cottage first, but no one answered. I should have known you’d be here.”
Roselyn gave her a weak smile, leaning her hand against the apple tree to steady herself. “Have you come for a baking lesson today?”
Charlotte nodded. “Mama agreed I could finish my other duties later. But first I have a question.” She glanced at the half wall. “Whose are those?”
Nervousness shot up Roselyn’s spine as she realized she’d left Thornton’s breeches outside all night. How stupid could she be?
She forced a smile. “Those are Philip’s.”
Charlotte looked uncomfortable. “Forgive me for intruding on your grief, but why do you have them out now? It has been a year.”
As Roselyn frantically searched for a good excuse, she slowly folded the breeches, then put her arm around the girl. “Charlotte, you mustn’t worry for me; I promise that I’m not dwelling on my grief. I was searching through a chest of my own garments and found these at the bottom. After I pulled them out, I—I accidentally spilled something on them, so I had to wash them.”
Charlotte’s smile was full of sympathy and trust, making Roselyn’s guilt all the harder to bear.
“Just let me know when you’re ready to part with his garments,” the girl said. “I know the church would appreciate them, and Mama and I would help you carry them.”
Roselyn leaned over to kiss her forehead. “You’re too dear to me. Thank you. Now come inside the bake house and we’ll try a new recipe.”
~oOo~
After Charlotte had gone, Roselyn found Thornton dressed in a clean shirt and breeches, sitting at the table. An empty bowl of porridge sat before him, and he leaned back on the bench, looking at her as if he’d been waiting. She suddenly remembered being pressed to his damp body, feeling his aroused manhood against her stomach. She didn’t understand why such a thing had happened betweenthem, and she could hardly ask him. Even now a flush of heat worked its way up her face, and she told herself it was embarrassment.
“Was that Charlotte Heywood?” he asked.
She nodded. “Thank you for not making a sound. She came for a baking lesson.”
“The breeches—”
She raised a hand. “Do not say it. I was foolish to leave them out there.”
“I was only going to apologize for the same offense. You have been good enough to clothe me—the least I can do is keep track of the garments.”
She couldn’t look at him anymore. Feeling a jitter of nerves, she stacked the dirty wooden bowls from the table.
“Roselyn?”
She almost dropped everything. What was wrong with her? “Yes?”
“I’d like to go for another walk today.”
She wanted to close her eyes and groan. “You exerted yourself enough yesterday.”
“No,” Thornton said, sitting forward and resting his arms on the table. “If I’m ever to be well, I need to bolster my strength. By God’s blood, Roselyn, I could hardly wash myself!”
She felt her lips twitch and she lowered her head.
“You’re smiling!” he exclaimed. “Don’t try to deny it.”
“I am trying not to grimace with impatience. Truly, I have much work to do.”
“Are your Heywood brothers coming back?”
“They’re not mine,” she said crossly. “They’re finished here, since my fields are small and quickly harvested.”
“So where are they now?”
