His Jilted Bride (Historical Regency Romance) (20 page)

She nodded once, uneasy. What if she
didn't do it right and ruined the whole thing?

“
You'll do just fine,” he assured her, spinning the
pole.

Amelia bent her knees and brought her
lips to the end of the pole and softly blew while Elijah held the
curved iron and kept the pole rolling, in place this time instead
of across the table and back.

“
All right,” he said, lifting the pole. He helped her return
to the fire to gather more hot glass. “Let's go shape it
again.”

And they did; twice more. Then they
went back to the row of bowls filled with colored glass. “Blue this
time.”

He lifted his gaze from the burning
ball of glass on the end to meet her eyes. “I was enjoying the
grey.”

“
And
I
will
get to enjoy seeing the blue swirled together with the
grey.”

The left side of his mouth tipped up
and he visibly swallowed. “All right. Blue it is.”

She made him dip the bulb
into the bowl of blue shards again until she was satisfied the
amount of blue—to match
his
eyes—equaled the amount of grey he'd already
blended in, then helped roll and shape again.

“
How in the world do you know how to do this?” Amelia asked
more as a distraction from his closeness and the sensations he
stirred in her rather than genuine curiosity.

He blew a long, deep breath into the
glass, making the bubble inside grow significantly. Pleased, he
removed his mouth. “My father.”

“
Pardon me?” His father had been a baron, not a craftsman.
Surely he hadn't asked Cook to heat the fires in the kitchen high
enough to mold glass.

Rolling out the pole, he said, “My
father used to tell me that a gentleman needed a special talent.
Something unique and unusual.”

Memories of his father flooded her
mind. Nearly as scientifically bent as Alex and always the perfect
gentleman, she had a hard time believing he'd convince his son to
break the rules of Society and learn a trade. “Why?” she asked at
last, unable to stop herself.

“
To woo the young ladies.”

A peal of uncontrollable
laugher erupted from her mouth. Those were
definitely
his father's words. No
disputing that. “And what are your brothers' talents?”

He got some more glass from the fire.
“I have no idea. I don't think either actually has one.”

“
Are you saying you're the only son who listened to his
father.”

“
Yes, ma'am.” He walked down to the end of the pole and this
time instead of picking up one of those rounded cast iron pieces
he'd been using to form the bulb as she rolled it, he picked up
what appeared to be a thick cloth of some sort. “We're almost
done,” he murmured, motioning for her to keep the pole in place as
she rolled it. “The other two might have
some
sort of talent, but neither as
interesting as this one, wouldn't you say?”

“
For once, Elijah Banks, we are in perfect
agreement.”

He scoffed. “We've agreed on things
before.”

“
That's right. We both agreed that Henry cheats at
draughts.”

He blew one last breath into the pole,
then picked up a pair of tongs and used them to do something to the
top. “We've agreed about other things, too.”

“
Such as?” she murmured, watching intently as he expanded the
glass near the top of the bowl just enough to stretch it out
equally all the way around but not break it from where it attached
to the end of the pole. His talent was beyond interesting. It was
fascinating.

He dropped the tongs and picked up
another tool which he then scraped along the “neck” of the glass
just below where it attached to the pole but above where he'd just
made the glass flare. He dropped that tool and picked up a pair of
dirty, brown gloves and a wooden block. “I need you to hold the
pole as tightly as you can.”

“
All right.” She gripped the pole as best she could and
watched in amazement as Elijah placed one gloved hand under the
bowl, gripped the wooden block with the other, then brought the
piece of wood down against the glass with a quick snap, breaking
their creation from the end.

He held it up and inspected it. “Now
we just need to heat the rim, then place it in the oven over there
to cool.”

“
How long does it take to cool?”

“
Usually just a day, but with how large this bowl is, I think
it'd be best to wait two.” He looked over Amelia's shoulder. “What
do you think, Ian?”

“
I think that piece will be staying here, is what I
think.”

“
Not this time,” Elijah said, heating the rim and smoothing
out the glass. “This one belongs to Mrs. Banks.”

The old man scoffed. “You've never
wanted to keep one before. You always let me sell them. And for a
fine coin, I might add.”

Elijah shrugged. “I never had anyone
in mind to give one to before. Now I do.”

Mr. Ian looked at Amelia and lifted
his bushy brows. “I can see that. A beautiful bowl for a beautiful
young lady, and all that.” He twisted his lips. “You younger
fellows are all the same.”

“
Oh, and how's that?” Elijah asked, opening the door to the
cooling oven.

“
Besotted.”

Chapter Nineteen

Guilty as charged.
Elijah was most certainly besotted, but now was
not the best time to admit to such.

“
We'll be back day after tomorrow for the bowl.” Elijah
narrowed his eyes on the man. “And it had better be
here.”

Ian waved him off. “You know I'd never
steal from you.”

“
I know that.” Elijah unrolled his sleeves and secured his
cuffs. “I also know you might try to convince me to sell it next
time I come in.”

“
That, I can promise.”

Elijah shrugged on his blue coat and
offered his arm to Amelia. “I don't know about you, but I'm swiftly
becoming gutfounded. Shall we go see about some cake
now?”

“
That'd be wonderful.”

Elijah paused. Why was she hesitating?
“It's not a punishable offense to eat a piece of cake. Or
two.”

“
I know, but I'm not feeling very well.”

Her cheeks did look flushed and her
hair was plastered to the front of her forehead. He assumed that
was just because it was hot in here, not because she was feeling
ill. “Do you need to go lie down?”

“
No, I think some fresh air will help. But I don't feel like
eating cake right now.”

“
Forget about the cake, let's go for a walk.” He opened the
back door to the shop and helped her out. It was the fastest way
out. He cursed himself. He should have known not to bring her
there. It was hot and musty, not to mention cramped. “Would you
like to take a small picnic down to the pond?”

“
We didn't bring a hamper.”

“
And if we had?”

She shrugged. “Then I guess we could
go on a picnic.”

“
Excellent.” He pointed to a little white brick building up
the street. “It's the best restaurant in Bath. We'll see if Marge
can make us up a picnic hamper.”

“
Mr. Banks,” a robust woman with bright red cheeks hollered
when they entered. She came around the table and waddled over to
them. “My, ye look more handsome than the last time I saw
ye.”

Elijah made a show of kissing her
hand, just as he always did, hiding his grin when she blushed.
“It's good to see you again, too.” He turned to the side and
gestured toward Amelia. “Marge, I'd like for you to meet my wife,
Lady Amelia Banks. Amelia, this is Marge, she is the cook in this
fine establishment.”

Marge's cheeks flushed a darker red.
“It's so nice to meet you! It's about time this one took a wife.”
She lowered her voice to a stage whisper and said, “Between yous
and mes, I didn't think he'd ever find a young lady to settle on. I
was gittin' worried, I'd have to marry him meself.”

Amelia grinned at her, sending a jolt
of desire straight through Elijah. He loved seeing her happy.
Genuinely happy, not forcing herself to be. And for some reason,
she'd found great humor in Marge's words and he didn't dare take
that away from her.

“
Tell me, dear, is e bein' a good husband?”

Before Amelia could answer, and lead
them into an uncomfortable conversation for all, Elijah spoke up.
“We've come for sandwiches.”

“
Takin' yer bride on a picnic, is ye?”

“
That was my plan. But first we need the
sandwiches.”

Marge screwed her face up and wagged a
finger at him. “Ye best not be forgettin' yer manners now or ye'll
be gittin' a few extra ingredients on yer sandwich.”

Elijah's lips turned up in disgust.
There were few things he hated to eat more than horseradish and
cabbage. Both of which Marge knew he hated. “I'll be good, I swear
it.”

“
Very well,” she said, wiping her hands on her apron. “Why
don't ye and yer lovely bride sit o'er there and wait. It'll just
be a few minutes.”

Elijah pulled the chair out for Amelia
before taking a seat himself. “This won't take too long.” Her face
was still flushed and her hair was beyond repair. From the corner
of his eye he saw Mr. Goodman, a reputable messenger from the area,
sitting in one of the tall chairs at the counter. He'd suspected it
was Goodman who'd left the random missives for him at Watson
Estate, but knew better than to question the man about whom they'd
come from. Likely, he didn't know and if word got back to the
original sender that Elijah had been sniffing around for
information, the messages might stop coming. And that was the last
thing he needed. “Wait here, I'll be right back.”

Amelia nodded and fiddled with the
strap of her reticule.

“
Goodman,” Elijah said by way of greeting, clapping him on the
back.

The other man jumped nearly a foot in
the air, his green eyes wide with curiosity, or perhaps panic? He'd
always been a bookish sort. He wore old, scuffed-up spectacles and
always had a tome thicker than a brick with him when not out
carrying messages. He usually kept to himself, never speaking
unless spoken to. And even then, he'd use the fewest amount of
syllables possible to answer.

“
Two lemonades, please,” Elijah called to Marge.

“
Aye. I'll put them in yer hamper.”

Elijah glanced back over at Amelia.
She didn't look any better now than she had when they left Ian's.
She needed to go home. “I'll take them now. I don't think we'll be
going on a picnic today. Just bring the food over to us when you
finish.” He made his way behind the counter and walked back to the
ice room.

“
What do ye think yer doin'?” Marge demanded.

Elijah flashed what he knew to be his
most charming smile at her. “Getting my wife some lemonade.” He
picked up two glasses and quickly filled them with the cool
lemonade from the silver pitcher she stored in the ice
room.

“
Well, as long as it's for yer wife.”

Elijah grinned at her again, then
picked up the two glasses and walked out of the kitchen. He caught
Mr. Goodman's gaze and nodded to him as he took the glasses over to
Amelia. “It shouldn't be much longer,” he said, taking his seat. “I
told her we'll just eat here and go home, but while we wait, you
should drink this, it will help you feel better.”

With no regard whatsoever to any sort
of manners befitting a young lady of her station, Amelia wrapped
her fingers around the glass so tightly her fingertips turned
white, then lifted it to her mouth and took three large gulps
before setting the now empty glass down.

He'd never admit this to her, but he
was rather impressed with the way she'd consumed her drink. It was
enough to make any boy jealous. But he also knew she hadn't done
that in an attempt to best him or issue a challenge. He picked up
both of their glasses and switched them.

Amelia darted her pink tongue through
her lips and reached for the glass he'd given her. “Thank
you.”

“
I'm sorry.”

Amelia's hand froze, the glass halfway
to her lips. “Pardon me, did you say something?”

“
I said I'm sorry,” he repeated hoarsely. He hadn't meant to
make her unwell. He'd just wanted to have a peaceful and enjoyable
day with his wife, not make her ill.

“
For what?”

He blinked. “For not noticing you
weren't feeling well sooner and taking you out of there.” Had he
been paying a bit more attention to how she might be feeling and
not so concerned with impressing her with his talents (or enjoying
the way her body felt pressed against his, if he were to be
completely honest), he could have gotten her out of there sooner
and she wouldn't be ill.