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proud of it. But he'd not kicked Holly out on her behind yet, thanks to the way Mariah handled him. And from what Holly gathered, Mariah hadn't been serving here much longer than a few days herself. |
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Not that there wasn't plenty of work for the both of them. Lots of cleaning and cooking to do at an inn, there was. But Holly didn't mind. Cleaning had to be done whether at a little place of her own, like she'd planned, or working for someone else. And she liked to cook. |
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That Frenchie. It sounded like he was just outside the outhouse door. What did he want now? At least he wasn't calling her Anglaise now. He pronounced "miss" like mees. Though she'd never admit it to him, his accent was cute. Him, too, in any ugly sort of way. But he'd told her straight off how he hated the English, and she was just off the boat from London, if you didn't count them five years of bond service. "Yes, Monsieur René" If he was being formal, so would she. |
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He sounded worried, bless him. She smiled to herself. He must have thought she was spending all this time in the little building because she wasn't up to snuff. She shoved open the door. "I'm just finishing up in here." |
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She looked out to find his back turned away, like he was respecting her modesty, and she laughed. "You can peek now," she said. Slowly, he pivoted, keeping his eyes down. Sweet man, despite his silly dislike of the English. His gaze rose slowly, up the pink dress she'd borrowed from Mariah, she had, though Mariah hadn't been around to ask. The top was much too snug in all the wrong places. Or maybe the right places, for they sure made Frenchie's big eyes grow even bigger. She had left the top button undone but had tied, in a strategic location, a large kerchief she'd found in the stable and washed. |
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"You are not unwell?" he asked. |
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"No, just busy." She held out the rags and lye soap. "This place sure needed a scrubbing." |
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He looked surprised, then that great, heavy mouth of his |
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