Page 30 of Charlotte

“Yes,” Lottie admitted. “A great deal.”

Felicity leaned one shoulder against the doorframe. “For what it is worth, I think Mr. Simms looked at her yesterday as if he knew exactly what he had been given.”

Lottie’s throat tightened. “He did, didn’t he?”

“He did.”

“Delly did not notice.”

“Perhaps not yet.”

It did not fill the empty side of the bed, but it helped.

Felicity tapped the doorframe lightly. “Come down when you’re ready. If you are delayed too long, Mrs. Schulte will assign you a breakfast companion, and none of us deserve that before coffee.”

Lottie laughed and promised to come.

After Felicity left, Lottie dressed quickly in her blue calico, pinned her hair with mixed success, and tucked Mr. Peterson’s list into the botany volume. It had survived a wedding and one night of examination. It deserved a safer home than being stuffed inside her reticule.

Downstairs, the dining room had indeed been conquered by Mrs. Schulte.

The long tables were crowded with brides, and townspeople. Several men had evidently been invited to breakfast for matchmaking purposes, but now looked as though they regretted not fleeing to the lumber camp at dawn.

Mrs. Beck poured coffee with cheerful authority. Mrs. Hanford corrected a young man’s posture from across the room. Val Sutton moved between tables with a smile that made the chaos seem almost intentional. Lottie paused near the doorway and instinctively looked for Delly.

Of course, she wouldn’t be there.

Delly would be up at the Simms’ cabin by now, probably rearranging the poor man’s shelves, interrogating him about household expectations, and making a list of every possible way a cabin could betray its inhabitants before noon.

Lottie hoped Jeb was prepared. She wiped her leaking eyes with her fingertips and inhaled deeply.

“Charlotte!” Mrs. Schulte called. “Here you are. Sit by Cornelia, dear. We must discuss the books.”

That was one command Lottie did not mind obeying.

Cornelia Montgomery sat near the window with a cup of coffee, a slice of bread, and an expression of amused endurance. She made room at once.

“I am told we are to become allies,” Cornelia said.

“I hope so.”

“Excellent. I have been wanting a library since last winter, and I have been told several times a schoolhouse with shelves is not the same as a library. I disagree in principle, but I would still like proper shelves.”

Lottie took the chair beside her. “Mr. Peterson made me a list.”

The words came out before she could make them casual. Cornelia’s eyebrows lifted. Lottie opened the botany book and drew out the paper with what she hoped was composure. Judging by Cornelia’s mouth, she failed.

“A practical list,” Lottie added.

“Of course.”

“For shelves.”

“Naturally.”

“There is nothing romantic about brackets.”

“No,” Cornelia said gravely. “History has never known a romantic bracket.”