“I don’t want them. I want something else.”
The look he gave her made her blush. What was she, a young miss, to be disconcerted at the mention of flirtation? “I will not cheapen my bedchamber by paying in kind.” She couldn’t look at him.
“I don’t intend for that to happen. We will come to an agreement, I’m sure, but not one that involves the bedroom.” He spoke with such lightness she couldn’t help but look up at him.
He was smiling at her. In an instant the world stopped. The sunny day faded, the shouts of the men further up the street receded, and they stood there, gazing at one another.
Gerald touched her hand. “We can talk about that later. Be assured I won’t ask you for anything you’re unwilling to give.”
“Yes,” she said, as if unsure what she was saying yes to. He hadn’t asked a question.
A particularly colorful curse brought her back to the present. After casting Gerald a laughing glance, she raced up the street to supervise the careful rolling of her precious machine.
It took an hour to get to the house, and another half hour to install the roller. Jem went downstairs to the cellar and they found a place on the stone-flagged floor near the stairs. “That was the wine cellar,” Gerald informed them.
“It’s too heavy to go upstairs. We’ll have to reinforce the floor if we want to do that,” Jem said. “But there’s plenty of light here. It should do very well, at least for now.”
The room was compact, but not too small to operate the machine. A man stood next to it, turning the handle that operated the rollers. One man could do it, due to the clever arrangement of cogs and wheels. The contraption was a marvel.
Annie stood, arms akimbo, admiring her beautiful machine. “You can buy large ones that are water or horse driven, but this one serves us well. I might add another in time.”
“You might.” Gerald sounded amused. “But don’t you think we should see to the other equipment?”
With a start she recalled the urgency of the situation. “Goodness!” Whirling around, she scampered up the stairs, and set off for her old house. Jem would stay with the roller, to guard it and to supervise the unpacking of the equipment when it arrived. He promised Annie he would dispose it so they could get back to work as soon as possible.
“Pies,” Gerald said firmly as they emerged into the street once more.
She blinked and stared up at him. “Pies?”
“I shall send to a pie shop and buy food for everyone,” he said firmly.
“Put it on account.”
“I will do no such thing! This is my treat. You can treat them later.”
So it was that three hours later they all sat down in the elegant drawing room to enjoy pie and potatoes, generously provided by Lord Carbrooke. Annie sent the boy for a barrel of small beer and they ate off what plates and dishes they could find, and drank from whatever seemed suitable.
It was a jolly repast. They had moved most of the contents of the workshops in record time. To Annie’s surprise, they had room for living accommodation on the top two floors. They’d have to commandeer some of the attic space where the servants generally slept, but they would still have more space than at the old house.
The cook bustled through and took control. She reclaimed the main kitchen and one store-room, then got busy, lighting a fire and setting water to heat. “You could keep both,” she informed Annie when she walked in. “Live there, work here.”
Regretfully, Annie shook her head. “Mr. Stephenson is tossing us out.”
The cook gave Annie a shrewd look. “You’re well shut of that one,” she said. “I kept quiet when you agreed to marry him, but I can’t say I ever liked him. And his servants don’t talk well of him.”
“Maybe I should have asked them.”
Gerald’s voice came from behind her. “Maybe you should. They always know more than us.” He grabbed her hand. “Come on. Jem says he’s ready for the stock.”
By which he meant their stock of silver. They had left Jem to control the security, since he handled it day to day.
“There’ll be tea when you’ve done,” the cook said, her gaze going meaningfully to Annie and Gerald’s linked hands.
Annie refused to explain herself to the cook, and she would not be ashamed by her automatic action to reach for him whenever he was near. He made her happy without doing anything at all. If she only had today, she would take it.
They had to unlink their hands while they scaled the narrow stone staircase leading to the ground floor. Once through the door lined in green baize they each reached for the other once more. He anchored her, and at the same time promised to take her to new heights, all with the touch of his hand. He smiled down at her as if understanding what she couldn’t articulate. Not here, at any rate.
Leaning down, he murmured in her ear, “I’m mad for you, Annie Cathcart.”