«The kitchen, your ladyship, is through that door.»
«Why, so it is.»
She gathered the skirts of her ruined travel outfit in her hands and eased through the doorway that was filled by her unwilling husband.
«I’ll expect supper within the hour,» Wolfe said as yards of soft wool brushed over his thighs, tightening every muscle in his body. «I’ll expect the coffee a hell of a lot sooner.»
«I’m sure you will,» Jessica agreed.
But she wasn’t sure Wolfe would get it.
The kitchen had a brick floor, cupboards everywhere, a pump, a sink, and a big stove. The small table in one corner obviously had been made by the Shaker craftsman who had furnished the bedroom. Sacks of supplies were lined up the length of the floor.
Now that Wolfe was no longer present to measure Jessica’s mood, her smile vanished as thoroughly as though it had never existed. In the place of her determined cheer was a physical fatigue that made even standing upright an ordeal. Mentally, she was no more resilient.
Nor was there any relief in sight. No matter how hard she tried to coax some simple human warmth from Wolfe, since the Indian attack he had remained abrupt, difficult, cold, and impossible to please. If that wasn’t bad enough, the wind seemed to moan without pause over the land. When she was alone, she heard the wind with terrible clarity.
She was always alone now, and never more so than when Wolfe was nearby. Automatically, her hand went to her breasts. Beneath her clothes, the locket lay concealed among soft folds of lace. The familiar contours of the necklace reassured her.
«Well,» Jessica said, forcing cheerfulness into her voice, for anything was better than the unborn horror keening within the wind. «Where do you suppose Wolfe has hidden his coffeepot? And what do you suppose it will look like when I find it?»
The low ululation of the wind was more answer than Jessica wanted to hear. Hurriedly, she fumbled for the matches and lighted a lantern, for Wolfe had shuttered the windows before he left for London. She had watched various servants light various lamps all her life, but it took several tries for her to get the right combination of match, wick, and oil. The lamp smoked annoyingly, but it was better than nothing.
The wind raked over the roof and made the cap on the stovepipe rattle like distant chains, reminding Jessica of her childhood in Scotland, when she had hidden in the kitchen with the scullery maids because she could no longer bear the sounds coming from her father’s suite of rooms. It had been a very long time since Jessica had thought of such things. She didn’t wish to begin now.
Humming to shut out both the wind and her darkly stirring memories, Jessica set to work. The air she hummed was one of her favorites, «BonnieLaddie, HighlandLaddie.» The words had always stuck her as over-simple, but the melody had a fine lilt that lifted her spirits. The more fiercely the wind blew, the more loudly Jessica sang her lively, wordless song, opening and closing cupboards as she searched for the coffeepot.
After opening every cupboard, peering in, and holding the smoky lamp aloft, Jessica still hadn’t found anything that resembled the graceful sterling silver urns Lord Robert’s servants had taken coffee from. Nor did she find anything like the small, plump sterling silver pots or tissue-thin china that had been used for service in the bedroom.
«Blazes,» she muttered.
Jessica began the search and the song all over again. Halfway through the cupboard, she sensed that she was no longer alone in the room. She spun around.
Wolfe was leaning against the door frame, his arms crossed over his chest and an odd expression on his face.
«That song…» he said.
«’BonnieLaddie, HighlandLaddie ’. It’s a rather silly air about a Scotsman wearing a cap.»
Wolfe cleared his throat and tried not to reveal the laughter that was shaking him. «Of course. It’s been so long since I heard the original words, I’d forgotten.»
He made a strangled sound and looked away from a moment.
«Are you well, Wolfe?»
Silently, Wolfe struggled not to smile.
«I know my voice isn’t of stage quality,» Jessica said, smiling wryly, «but no one has ever laughed at it before. However, if it amuses you so, I’ll sing more often.»
«I doubt the verses you know would be as amusing as the ones I know.» Wolfe watched Jessica tilt her head and look at him with wide aquamarine eyes. «You look like a cat when you watch me with such stillness.»
The intensity of Wolfe’s eyes made Jessica’s breath catch in her throat. An odd sensation trembled in the pit of her stomach, as though he were stroking her hair. But he wasn’t touching her. He was simply watching her.
With an effort, she forced herself to speak. «What verses do you know that I don’t?»
«Many.»
«Wonderful. Teach me and we’ll sing together.»
Wolfe compressed his lips against the smile that threatened to overwhelm his efforts at self-control. «The verses I know would horrify you.»
«Why?»
«They deal with Adam’s staff, among other things,» Wolfe said blandly.
Jessica looked blank. «Why would talk of Adam’s staff horrify me?»
«It’s also celebrated as a flea shooter, a hoe, a fishing rod, a drummer’s stick, a Roman candle, a branding iron, a dagger, a sword, a dowsing rod, a ramrod, a pistol and, lately, a repeating rifle.» Wolfe’s voice vibrated with suppressed laughter. «There are other names as well. Many names. And for each one, a verse to the tune you were singing.»
Jessica frowned. «A tool for many purposes, is that it?»
Wolfe gave up the fight, tipped back his head, and laughed without restraint.
The rich, masculine sounds made Jessica feel as though she was standing close to a fire. Some of the tension seeped slowly from her. The feeling of relief was almost dizzying, telling her how much she had feared that she would never be able to make her husband smile again.
«As you say,» Wolfe managed finally, «anallpurpose tool. Fortunately, Eve was equally well endowed.»
Jessica blinked. «I beg your pardon?»
«Adam’s staff had its complement in Eve.»
«I don’t understand.»
«Eve had a fertile field for Adam to till,» Wolfe said gravely, «a shadowed pool for him to fish, a deep well to be discovered by his dowsing rod, a supple sheath for his knife or sword to lie within…ah, the sunrise of understanding shines pinkly on your face.»
Blushing, Jessica covered her mouth with her hands, but couldn’t prevent the sound of her giggles from escaping. Her laughter was contagious, setting off Wolfe again. Soon Jessica was laughing so hard she had to hang onto the cupboard door or fall.
Wolfe was little better off. It had been years since he had teased Jessica until they were both weak with laughter. He hadn’t known how much life had lacked until this moment.
«I’ve missed you,» he admitted before he could think better of it.
«Not as much as I missed you.»
«Did you?»
«Oh, yes,» she said, blotting tears of laughter from her eyes. «When you’re with me, I never hear the wind.»
«What an odd reason to miss someone.»
«Elves are odd creatures.»
Wolfe looked at the row of open cupboard doors. «Yes, they are. Why were you going through the cupboards, elf?»
«I was looking for your coffeepot.»
«It’s on the stove.»
Jessica straightened and stared at the pot-bellied stove. She saw nothing but a battered container that looked like a tall, rather narrow pot. It was wider at the bottom than the top and had a slight flare on the rim. A wire handle stood upright above the lid.
«A coffeepot on the stove,» she said neutrally.
«Umm.»
The sound Wolfe made was rather like that of a very large, contented cat. Jessica glanced at him from beneath thick auburn lashes.