“Yes, I know Warrick. It is quite ridiculous, but might I be allowed inside? I should like to sit in Miss Anna’s room for just a few moments.”
Warrick looked at him as though he had just performed a human sacrifice. “Sir… I do not know. Is that appropriate?”
“Probably not, but I miss Anna so much and I thought if I could just sit where she sits of a morning. It might bring me some peace. Would you please allow it?”
Warrick stood back from the door. “If it pleases Your Lordship…”
Harry rushed past Warrick, ran up the stairs and along the hall to Anna’s chambers. He went inside and stood at the door looking about her room. It was so very silent. He could not even hear any singing birds. Just a light breeze rustling the tree closest to the window.
He walked slowly through the room and finally settled into the chair he knew she used most often. He placed his arms on the arms of the chair, closed his eyes and breathed in the faint scent of her. If only… if only she knew what he felt for her. But she did not. How could she? He had never told her of the depth of feelings he had for her. No, the wordfeelingswas too general. It waslove. Strong, passionate love. If only he could tell her. But she was not here and, even if she was, could he?
He got up from the chair and went over to the window seat where she loved to read. He sat down and gazed out at the view she had told him often that she loved. But he was suddenly overcome with a wash of emotion. He buried his face in his hands and breathed in the scent of her that lingered where he had rested his hands on the arms of the chair. They emitted the very faintest trace of her.
No, he must do more. He bounded up from the window seat and ran out of her room, down the stairway, and out the front door toward his horse. The bewildered Warrick stood at the door and pulled his dressing gown tightly around himself.
Harry felt he must ride hard and fast until he could find some peace in exhaustion.
* * *
Despite having Roger as a guest, Maria needed to continue with her daily routine. There was always something to do each day running a great house the size of Creassey.
As the growing season was winding down, it was time to start putting up fruits for winter. Some could be cut and dried in the cellar, but others needed to be put up in jars and opened on a cold winter’s afternoon to serve with tea and toast.
The gardeners had picked bushels of plums, apples, quince, and pears, fragrantly waiting on the sideboards in the kitchen to be prepared.
Maria stood up at the end of her breakfast ready to work with cook and the kitchen maids to begin the drying process and thejarring, as cook liked to call the jam making.
As Maria was folding her napkin before departing, Roger asked her. “Miss Maria, I shall be leaving tomorrow. Might we have some time to visit before I leave?”
This might be a great inconvenience, but she felt she must oblige. “Certainly. I have a busy morning ahead, but I feel I can find some time this afternoon to visit with you.”
“And what keeps you busy this morning?” he asked.
“Jam making, principally.”
“Perhaps I might help? My mamma used to make jams, compotes, and canned fruit each autumn as well. I am very good at stirring a pot.”
Maria looked at him, surprised by his willingness to help with such a womanly chore. “Very well, if you like. We can always use a strong arm to stir the jam pot.”
* * *
Roger rolled up his sleeves as he entered the kitchen. Maria, the cook, and two kitchen maids were already chopping piles of fruit that went into pots already on the boil. The air was filled with the moist, wafting scents of the sweet jams.
“Still need someone to stir the pot?” he asked with a grin.
The cook was short, round and strands of grey hair escaped from under her cap. “Aye, help is always welcome.” She handed him a wooden spoon so large it was more like a shovel. “Give the pears a stir and watch the quince not boil over. Can you do that?”
“I believe so. Have helped with many a jam making in my day.”
“Lord, love ya. Now get to it, lad.”
Maria was impressed at how willing Roger was to help, as she stood apart for a moment and watched him work. It was true, he might be rough around the edges, but she was willing to give the man some slack as Harry had suggested. There were four pots simmering away on the stove and she went over and began attending to two of the pots.
“I take it you have not traveled much?” Roger said. “Have you ever been abroad?”
Strange question, Maria thought but she said, “I have not. With an invalid mother, and just Harry and me to run an estate this large, we have stayed very close to home.” She stopped stirring for a moment and considered. “I should love to see Paris, and maybe Italy and even Greece. Someday, perhaps. But it has not been possible so far.”
“You would like Italy,” he said, lifting the spoon from the pot and letting it drip to see how near it was to setting up.
