Page 61 of The Moonstone Major
The interior construction would commence over the course of the winter, and the harbor expansion would likely commence sometime in late spring of next year, unless something happened to disrupt the schedule.
Sergeant Crane walked up to him as he arrived at the site. “The men are asking when the next recital is to be held?”
Fionn arched an eyebrow and grinned. “Next week, in all likelihood. What’s going on? Since when are soldiers eager to stand around holding dainty cups of tea while listening to a piano recital when they could otherwise be at the tavern enjoying an ale?”
“You weren’t at the last recital, Major Brennan.”
He nodded. “I was in Plymouth, as you well know, giving a report on our progress to General Hayward. What happened in my absence?”
He had only returned last night and intended to stop by Westgate Hall on his way back to Moonstone Cottage later this evening to catch up on all the news.
“Since you were not there to assist her, Lady Chloe invited some of her friends to join her and Lord Stockwell’s daughters. I am a happily married man, sir. But I must tell you, one was more beautiful than the other. Especially Lady Dowling. She’s the widow who keeps mostly to herself, as would be expected of a gently bred lady recently out of mourning.”
Fionn shrugged. “I know who she is, but I never paid particular notice.”
“None of us did, for she always wears those hideous veiled bonnets that hide most of her features. But she wasn’t wearing her bonnet at the recital. The men are hoping she’ll be helping out again.”
He laughed. “I ought to have known their sudden desire for culture was nothing more than a prurient interest in women. I’ll ask about her next time I see Lady Chloe.”
Sergeant Ames happened to be passing and caught his last words. “Sir, Lady Chloe is with Lord Stockwell’s daughters at the tea shop, if you happen to be looking for her.”
“I wasn’t, but thank you for mentioning it.” Fionn had missed Chloe while off in Plymouth and was eager to see her again.
Aching to see her.
Why not stop in at the tea shop to catch up on any relevant news? Besides, what harm could there be?
Well, of course there was harm. They could not look at each other without their hearts bleeding.
He didn’t care.
He had to see her.
The day’s construction was coming to an end, and his sergeants would be marching the men down to the cove for their daily swim. He certainly did not need to supervise them.
He took another few minutes to finish up with his inspection of the day’s work and make notations for his report before heading off to the tea shop in the hope of finding Chloe still there.
Foremost on his mind was Lady Stockwell’s condition.
He hoped the family had received good news from her London doctors, but life was not always kind to good people, and there was no telling the outcome. To distract the girls from worrying about their mother, Chloe had now held two recitals at Moonstone Cottage for his soldiers.
The arrangement suited everyone, keeping the girls occupied and distracted, and giving Chloe a reason to visit the cottage every day.
She was happy because all she ever wanted was to be at the cottage.
He was pleased because all he ever wanted was to be with Chloe.
He had also come up with another project to keep her returning to the cottage, one he knew would tantalize her. Last week, while searching his bedchamber for a set of keys he was certain he’d placed upon the bureau but must have fallen and rolled somewhere, he had come upon a secret door in his bedchamber that none of the Killigrew sisters or the Hawkes apparently knew about.
Inside was a treasure trove of family documents belonging to their ghostly sea captain, Brioc Taran Arundel.
He had yet to discuss this newly found treasure with Chloe, for he had made the discovery the morning he was to leave for Plymouth. But now that he was back, he meant to pursue it.
He intended to ask for Chloe’s help in cataloguing these papers and then figuring out what to do with them. The cottage belonged to her and her sisters, and therefore the trove of documents would by rights belong to them.
Chloe happened to be seated alone in the tea shop at a corner table beside the window overlooking the street. It was the same table where he’d carried her on the day she was almost trampled by Lord Claymore’s phaeton. He was never one for expressing feelings, never had a reason to feel anything for anyone. But the sight of her as she sat lost in her thoughts, the sun spilling in through the window and wrapping her in a golden light, completely overwhelmed him.
She looked lovelier than ever.
