Page 27 of Charlotte
“It sounded true enough out loud.”
Then he reached into his coat with his left hand and drew out a folded paper. For one wild, breathless second, Lottie thought it might be one of her letters.
It was not.
It was a small list, creased and worn.
“I spoke to Stafford,” he said. “The carpenter. Meeting hall shelves will need brackets if you mean to hold books of any weight. Wide planks. Not pine too green, or they’ll warp. I wrote what you’d need.”
He held the paper out.
Lottie took it carefully.
The handwriting was cramped and uneven in places, but legible. Practical. Thoughtful. Next to one measurement, he had written: for heavy books, not trifles.
She pressed her lips together because smiling too quickly might frighten him off.
“You made me a shelving list?”
“Made it for the library.”
“Of course.”
“It is only a list.”
“Of course.”
“A practical one.”
“Very practical.”
His eyes narrowed slightly, as if he suspected her of enjoying herself.
She was.
Deeply.
“Thank you,” she said, and made sure her voice did not tease. “This will help.”
He nodded once.
Then, after a pause, he said, “Your sister’s right about ledgers.”
Lottie almost laughed. “Please never tell her. She is insufferable when confirmed.”
“Books lent out ought to come back.”
“Yes. I know.”
His gaze moved to the botany volume beneath her arm. “That one part of the library?”
“It is.”
“Botany?”
“Yes. Would you like to borrow it?”
“No.”
