Total pages in book: 119
Estimated words: 112133 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 561(@200wpm)___ 449(@250wpm)___ 374(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 112133 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 561(@200wpm)___ 449(@250wpm)___ 374(@300wpm)
“Cora!” They called out as one, lifting their voices to the rafters. “Cora, are you in here?”
No answer.
Meredith swore under her breath. Until this moment, she’d managed to hold panic at bay. Now she felt it rattling at the windowpanes.
“We’ll check the whole house anyway,” he said. “She could be asleep somewhere. You look down here. I’ll go upstairs.”
She nodded. Holding her lamp high, she began a slow circuit of the lower floor. The cottage had a simple arrangement, but a pleasing one. At one end was a large kitchen. It shared a double-sided hearth with the drawing room, which took up the center of the cottage. There were smaller rooms at the back—larder, closet. She didn’t find Cora in any of them. Then, at the opposite end of the ground floor there was a bedroom suite with its own separate hearth, complete with a small dressing room. It was all very thoughtful in its simplicity.
The stairs hadn’t yet been completed, but there was a ladder up to the second floor. Climbing with one hand and gripping her lamp with the other, she made her way up the rungs until her head and shoulders emerged into the loft. “Any luck up here?” she asked, pushing her lamp onto the newly laid floorboards so she could use both hands to pull herself up.
“None. Downstairs?”
Meredith couldn’t answer him. And she wished she could say the reason for her silence was anxiety for poor Cora. But it wasn’t. She’d just taken her first good look at the second floor of the cottage, and what she saw simply stole her breath.
“Rhys, this is …” She swallowed hard. “This is lovely.”
“You weren’t meant to see it yet.” He came over and offered a hand as she managed the ladder’s last few rungs.
The entire loft was open from end to end, making one large room. Only the chimney coming up from the kitchen divided the space. As below, it had dual hearths—one facing a nook tucked under the eaves, the other situated to throw heat toward the rest of the room. The sharply sloping roof soared high above them in the center, but tapered to meet the tops of the windows at each edge. The rafters and thatch were left exposed, giving it a homey feel. The scent of freshly planed wood shavings filled the air.
As she slowly toured the space, he said, “I hoped you’d approve of our rooms—or room, I should say—being upstairs. The place is meant to be your father’s eventually … so with his legs, I thought it best to keep his bedchamber downstairs. Since it would be just us up here, and temporarily at that, I left it undivided and the ceiling unfinished. Gives us plenty of room for now, and once we move out the space can be used for storage or servants. I thought it cozy.”
“Very cozy,” she agreed.
“I thought I’d build a bed into this nook,” he explained, walking over to the smaller space created by the hearth’s division. “Nice and warm, you know, with the fire so close. And then”—energetic strides carried him to the opposite end—“shelves and cupboards at this end. In the middle, a sitting area. A desk for all your papers and such, right under this window.”
“What are these?” she asked, picking up a misshapen lump of wood from a pile near the window.
“Those are …” He darted over to take it from her hand, stepping between her and the rest of the heap. “Not finished.”
She craned her neck, trying to look around him. “They almost look like—”
“They aren’t.”
She crossed her arms and cocked her head. “Very well. Don’t tell me. We’ll just stand here all night, denying the existence of little bits of wood.”
He rolled his eyes and sighed. “Fine.” He took the lump of wood from behind his back and lobbed it at her.
She caught it easily and held it up for examination, turning it over in her hands. “Why, it’s carved. These look like leaves.” Looking up, she raised an eyebrow at him. “Is it meant to be a pineapple?”
“No,” he said impatiently, spearing a hand through his hair before snatching it from her grasp. “It is not a pineapple. It’s meant to be a lily. I think.” He kicked gently at the pile of wooden knobs, separating them. “There’s a matching one here somewhere. As I said, they’re not finished. The roses are coming out a little better. Have a look.” He plucked another from the pile and held it out to her.
“Ah, I see.” The object in her hand resembled a wooden cabbage more than anything, but she wouldn’t have said so for the world. “What are they for?”
“Finials, for the curtain rods. There are four windows up here, you see. I’ve been working on a different set for each.” He pointed to each window in turn. “Roses. Lilies. Daisies.” His touch landed on the windowpane at their side. “Tulips.”