Something Old by Rebecca Connolly (autobiographies to read txt) 📕

“Mmm.” Lily smiled up at him, placing a hand on his cheek. “Make haste, husband. Any more of your kisses, and I’ll find myself too sleepy to eat anything.”

Thomas quirked his brows, his grin crooked, his hair in adorable disarray. “I’d find a way to rouse you well enough. What an entertaining challenge that would be.”

Heat raced into Lily’s cheeks, and she tugged the bedcovers over her face, which only made Thomas laugh more. She felt the mattress depress slightly as he shifted his weight and pushed up from the bed, heard him rustle about for more decent clothing, which made her cheeks flush further.

She had no idea what clothes he had been wearing before or what he was wearing at the moment.

Or what she was. Oh heavens, how had this happened?

As though summoned by her thoughts, the events of the evening began to play in her mind again, the hue slightly rosy, the pace a little slower, lingering on key moments such as when they pulled each other close in the waltz and when she removed their gloves in the carriage. And when they returned home…

She pressed the bedcovers to her face to muffle a wavering whimper, her legs rubbing against each other with a sudden burst of jitters.

“Lily?” Thomas’s voice called from her adjoining sitting room, his tone rife with amusement. “Do come here and see this.”

She paused, folding the bedcovers down from her face, staring up into the canopy above her. “See what?”

“If I told you,” his voice came again, “there would be no need to see it.”

Lily sighed with the familiar reluctance of any person not wishing to depart from their bed and sat up, sliding her feet over the edge and scooting down until her feet touched the floor. She stood quickly and reached for the dressing gown in its usual place on the chair nearest the bed. Sliding her arms into it, she padded quickly over to her sitting room, fumbling with the sash at her waist.

“What is it?” she asked as she rounded the corner, forcing her hair out of her face, her fingers tangling on a pin that had somehow been missed during the removal.

Imagine that.

Thomas stood at the door of the room and only gestured to something out in the corridor. She crept closer, slipping between him and the door to glance out.

A basket sat in front of the door, filled to the brim with exquisite food. Thick slices of ham, meat pies, biscuits, endless rolls of bread, an entire bowl of potatoes in sauce, pastries, a crock of butter, and several oranges. Beside the basket sat a full decanter of Madeira with accompanying glasses, as well as a letter.

“I’ve heard tales of Cornish piskeys,” Lily mused, unable to keep from smiling at the sight. “Emblyn was telling me about them. I didn’t realize they delivered suppers, too.”

Thomas placed one hand on her shoulder and wrapped the other around her waist, pulling her flush against him. “I think, my love, that supper is ready.”

She glanced up at him with a wild grin. “Did you do this?”

He returned her look incredulously. “When would I have managed it? Lest memory fail you, I’ve not left your side since the card room at Helwithin, and I hardly anticipated the events of the evening that followed.”

Lily rubbed a hand over his at her waist, giggling merrily. “True enough, I suppose. I’ll get the Madeira, if you can manage the basket.”

“I believe I can,” he scoffed playfully, patting her hip. “Come on, love. I’ll build up the fire.”

As giddy as children, they gathered their goods and scuttled back into the room with the lot, setting the basket on the ground beside a small table and chairs that Thomas pulled closer to the fireplace. He focused his attention on building up the fire as promised, while Lily pulled items out and set them out, smiling when she saw the silverware and plates included as well.

So they would not be eating with their fingers like commoners, then. Who had bestowed the basket upon them?

Her eyes flew to the letter that had accompanied the basket, laying on the floor beside it, forgotten. She snatched it up and studied the hand, though it was not familiar to her. It was addressed simply, only the name Grangers with a short line drawn beneath.

She turned it over, the wax seal as foreign as the hand. She broke it and unfolded the letter, a hand going to her mouth to cover an incredulous laugh as she read. “Thomas…”

“What?” He rose at once, coming to her, the fire steadily growing in the fireplace. “What is it?”

“‘Dearest friends,’” she read aloud, giving him a bemused look as her hand went to her throat. “‘It pains me to think of your leaving my home without partaking of the supper I painstakingly planned. My staff were troubled as well and have prepared a basket of the fare for you. As anxiously as you departed, I do hope you remember to keep up your strength and nourishment this evening, and I greatly look forward to our next gathering. Yours ever, Gage Trembath.’” She folded the page and clamped down on her lips hard, giggling despite the obstruction.

Thomas’s eyes were round as he stared at the now folded letter. “The cheek of that bloody devil.”

Lily burst out laughing, covering her mouth again quickly.

His eyes darted to hers, a smile forming. “I suppose it was fairly obvious what we intended.”

“Not the details, I should hope,” Lily protested indignantly, though she could not keep herself from the air of laughter despite that. “It is not as though we were tearing our clothing from ourselves as we departed.”

“Now that would have been cause for comment,” Thomas allowed, nodding in thought. “But no, I believe Trembath had just enough of an idea when he saw a husband and wife leaving his home in such a way.” He grinned slowly at the food, shaking his head. “Peculiar sort of friend, I must say. But