Glitter - Abbi Glines Page 0,73

I wished nothing more than to take her to my room and to my bed with me, I began our walk to her bedchambers. The silence was for the best as we passed through the hallway. Finding one of her family members awake and hearing us would cause an issue we did not need. When I asked for Miriam, I wanted it to be for no other reason than my desire for her to be my wife. No other dark shadows should hang upon the moment. No cause for her to believe my hand had been forced by her uncle.

When we made it to her door, I considered joining her, but then I did not know of her sister’s habits when it came to visiting her. We had taken a chance in the kitchen. One I would never regret, however, I doubted we would be so lucky to continue in her room without notice.

She placed a hand on the door and then turned her head to look back at me. Knowing silence was best, I moved closer and leaned down to capture her lips with mine once more. I wanted her to sleep with thoughts of only me in her dreams. I did not linger as I wanted to, for fear I would forget my focus. “Goodnight, Miriam,” I whispered with my lips brushing her ear. She shivered as I stepped back.

“Good night, Ashington,” she replied softly then quickly turned and went into her room. Once the door clicked behind her, I turned to leave.

Wellington already at the dining room table was something I had come to expect the past few days. The man was an early riser. He had already been brought his preference of coffee and a tray of pastries had been placed on the table. I had enjoyed having them here and hoped in the future they would return to visit when their niece was the Countess of Chatwick Hall. Knowing the closeness they shared with Miriam, I was sure this would be a regular event.

Emma would love Lady Wellington. They had much in common. Especially their love for jam and hot chocolate. It was luck that I had found, not only a lady that would fit perfectly into our life, but one with a family such as this one. They were not at all locked down to society’s rules and I appreciated that immensely. How I thought someone as proper as Lydia would have been able to accept the package that I came with I was not sure. It had been poorly thought through. Emma would have kept her in tears and I would have been left dealing with the aftermath of it all.

“It is a fine coffee you have brewed in your kitchen. I will admit my cook has not perfected the process as of yet, so I am envious of your luck in having one that can make it to taste like the coffee I drank during my time in New Orleans. I did grow quite fond of it there,” Wellington informed me in way of greeting as I went to take my seat.

Speaking to him about his niece now seemed like a good time, but I feared doing it in my home around my table would make it seem as if I wanted an upper hand. His acceptance should be done at his home where he did not feel as if I were trying to control his decision. Waiting until that time now seemed difficult. After last night, I did not wish to go another night without Miriam in my home. Preferably in my bed.

“I’ve read that New Orleans uses chicory in their coffee much like France. The concept hasn’t made it to England yet, the taxes remain an issue. One would think they too would use the additive of chicory to stretch the product,” I replied.

Wellington grinned broadly. “Indeed. I have oft said the same thing. Many do not enjoy the taste of chicory in coffee, but I much prefer it. There is a hint of wood in the taste,” he paused and thought a moment then added, “almost nutty perhaps would describe it best.”

“Please do not tell me you are boring Lord Ashington with your talk of chicory coffee,” Lady Wellington said as she breezed into the dining room, looking bright and well-rested. “He does so miss coffee with the added chicory. My family complains of the additive and the need to use it and my husband swears it is a