Fortune Said: A Valentine Haberdashers Tale Read Online Free PDF
Author: Sue London
at ease, and each of them lit up when they saw the other enter the room. But as he wasn't particularly inclined towards marriage, no matter how much he had teased Grace on the topic, he was able to appreciate their relationship with the gentle indulgence of an objective observer.
"If I need anything ? What if I have an itch in the middle of the night. Should I ring you?"
"Whit," Josh said warningly. His cousin knew him well enough to fear that Whit might carry out just such a threat.
"Worry not, I wouldn't want to wake your wife with such a banal request. Besides," he said, turning his attention to the quiet woman who still hovered near his bed, "I'm sure that Miss Devonport will see to my needs."
"Of course," Miss Devonport said with a small smile.
* * *
When the Dibbses left, Mr. Whitman attacked his food with a great deal more enthusiasm than Sissy had expected. But his energy and appetite waned rather quickly.
"You must eat this chicken," he told her.
"I must?"
"Yes, it would be a crime for it to go to waste."
She sat on the edge of the bed next to him and picked at his plate. "It is quite good."
He gave a contented sigh. "Yes it is. The hors d'age and roast chicken. Quite a good day."
She laughed. "I'm sorry, the hors what?"
"The hors d'age . Very fine brandy aged over ten years in the barrel. Would you like to try it?"
"I don't know anything about brandy."
"Taste it. Then you'll at least know whether or not you like it. Although I have to caution you, developing an affection for it could just lead to heartache since we so rarely have any."
"Would you like some?"
"Yes, but you should taste it first."
She stood and picked up the decanter. "I assume this is it?"
"Yes, just pour some into the snifter."
She looked at the clear amber liquid in the cut crystal decanter. There seemed to be many priceless, or nearly priceless, things in the earl's household and she was suspicious this was one of them. When she poured it into the snifter the pungent odor of the liquor rose up to her. It was pleasant and bordered on sweet.
"Now," Mr. Whitman said, "you hold the bottom of the snifter in your palm to warm the brandy. And gently swirl it."
She trie d, but they both laughed at her awkward attempt.
"Here, let me show you." He took the glass and demonstrated how to swirl the brandy around the bottom. When she took the glass back she was marginally more successful . "Now," he said, "you sniff the brandy."
"I can smell it from here."
"Who is the instructor?" She laughed and he captured her wrist, bringing the snifter to his nose and inhaling deeply. "Ah, yes. Lovely."
She knew he was speaking of the brandy, but the silly intimacy of him teaching her how to drink properly made her blush . She raised the glass to her nose and sniffed as he had demonstrated. She would wager that just the fumes from this were more potent than any wine she'd ever had.
"And finally," Mr. Whitman said, "you are ready to take your first sip."
She tipped the glass back and let the brandy roll onto her tongue. And within a moment was coughing it out.
"Gracious!" she exclaimed between hacking coughs. He saved the snifter from her hands.
Mr. Whitman looked very much as though he were holding himself back from laughing at her. "So I'll assume you haven't indulged in the stronger spirits before."
She shook her head, still too overcome with coughing to speak.
"I suppose it's an acquired taste," he said, looking down into the snifter and swirling it once more. "One that I have very much acquired."
S he held her hand out and gasped, "Let me try again."
"It's not a challenge. If you don't like it, you don't like it."
She kept her hand extended until he finally yielded the snifter. This time she was careful to hold her breath as she took a small sip. It burned going down, as though it were liquid fire, but she managed to swallow without coughing. The aftertaste was sweet and potent. "I don't hate it. I don't know if I like it
"If I need anything ? What if I have an itch in the middle of the night. Should I ring you?"
"Whit," Josh said warningly. His cousin knew him well enough to fear that Whit might carry out just such a threat.
"Worry not, I wouldn't want to wake your wife with such a banal request. Besides," he said, turning his attention to the quiet woman who still hovered near his bed, "I'm sure that Miss Devonport will see to my needs."
"Of course," Miss Devonport said with a small smile.
* * *
When the Dibbses left, Mr. Whitman attacked his food with a great deal more enthusiasm than Sissy had expected. But his energy and appetite waned rather quickly.
"You must eat this chicken," he told her.
"I must?"
"Yes, it would be a crime for it to go to waste."
She sat on the edge of the bed next to him and picked at his plate. "It is quite good."
He gave a contented sigh. "Yes it is. The hors d'age and roast chicken. Quite a good day."
She laughed. "I'm sorry, the hors what?"
"The hors d'age . Very fine brandy aged over ten years in the barrel. Would you like to try it?"
"I don't know anything about brandy."
"Taste it. Then you'll at least know whether or not you like it. Although I have to caution you, developing an affection for it could just lead to heartache since we so rarely have any."
"Would you like some?"
"Yes, but you should taste it first."
She stood and picked up the decanter. "I assume this is it?"
"Yes, just pour some into the snifter."
She looked at the clear amber liquid in the cut crystal decanter. There seemed to be many priceless, or nearly priceless, things in the earl's household and she was suspicious this was one of them. When she poured it into the snifter the pungent odor of the liquor rose up to her. It was pleasant and bordered on sweet.
"Now," Mr. Whitman said, "you hold the bottom of the snifter in your palm to warm the brandy. And gently swirl it."
She trie d, but they both laughed at her awkward attempt.
"Here, let me show you." He took the glass and demonstrated how to swirl the brandy around the bottom. When she took the glass back she was marginally more successful . "Now," he said, "you sniff the brandy."
"I can smell it from here."
"Who is the instructor?" She laughed and he captured her wrist, bringing the snifter to his nose and inhaling deeply. "Ah, yes. Lovely."
She knew he was speaking of the brandy, but the silly intimacy of him teaching her how to drink properly made her blush . She raised the glass to her nose and sniffed as he had demonstrated. She would wager that just the fumes from this were more potent than any wine she'd ever had.
"And finally," Mr. Whitman said, "you are ready to take your first sip."
She tipped the glass back and let the brandy roll onto her tongue. And within a moment was coughing it out.
"Gracious!" she exclaimed between hacking coughs. He saved the snifter from her hands.
Mr. Whitman looked very much as though he were holding himself back from laughing at her. "So I'll assume you haven't indulged in the stronger spirits before."
She shook her head, still too overcome with coughing to speak.
"I suppose it's an acquired taste," he said, looking down into the snifter and swirling it once more. "One that I have very much acquired."
S he held her hand out and gasped, "Let me try again."
"It's not a challenge. If you don't like it, you don't like it."
She kept her hand extended until he finally yielded the snifter. This time she was careful to hold her breath as she took a small sip. It burned going down, as though it were liquid fire, but she managed to swallow without coughing. The aftertaste was sweet and potent. "I don't hate it. I don't know if I like it
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