Page 20 of His Spirited Lady
She was away in a flash, letting the horse have her head until the distillery sheltered them from view. Caspar was an orange pile of fur, snoozing at the bottom of the haystack.
Amelia swept through the back door, then through the barrel and label rooms. The still room’s sweet, earthy scent slowed her as it always did. She loved to bask in the copper tinted sunshine, close her eyes, and soak in the warmth while she imagined the scent of her whiskey when it was uncorked, the silky ribbon when it was poured, the color of it in glasses. How the ingredients would meld to smooth the bite of the alcohol.
However, this time, she wasn’t alone. A young boy, standing in the shadowy corner, dropped the firewood in his hands and snatched his hat from his head so quickly that his fine blond hair floated in the sunlight.
“May I help you, Miss Chitester?”
“You can, Freddie. Thank you. Did the thatch arrive for your parents’ roof?”There. I’m not lying to my mother.
“It did, miss. My mam says it’s dry as a bone and thick as a wool blanket. Tom and I are going to carry it up this afternoon, when he’s done in the fields.”
“And when you’re finished with school, yes?” She and Drake had made this decision early on. Hiring older children meant fewer questions and fewer temptations to drink the product. It also gave local families additional income. However, they weren’t supposed to miss school in favor of money.
Freddie nodded. “I said I’d come stoke the fires on my way. The vicar said I could be late since I’m better at math than most—except Florence. She’s better’n everyone.”
“And your father is recovering well?”
“Yes, miss. The doctor says he’ll be back behind the plow in a few weeks. Which’ll be good because he’s in a right foul mood.” A blush flooded the boy’s cheeks. “Pardon me, miss.”
“My father’s been ill, too. He’s in the same mood.” Amelia looked around, casting for a reason to be here. Freddie didn’t know of her involvement, but a lady visiting a distillery was a topic for conversation. “I’ve come to see Mr. Fletcher about buying Mr. Butler’s apples. Is he about?”
“Yes, miss. He’s in his office.” Freddie pointed to the door in the corner. “He said something about a meeting this morning. I was supposed to be gone before it started, but I wanted to make sure there was enough wood to keep the stills bubbling.”
It was on the tip of her tongue to thank him, but these weren’t supposed to be her fires. “You’d best get going then. I’ll let him know you’ve gone on to school.”
“Thank you, miss.” Freddie clapped his hat over his head as he ran past and out the door, eager to be on his way.
Amelia went to the office and knocked quickly before entering. “I’m sorry to be late, Drake. Breakfast took—”
Richard Ferrand sat across from Drake in the chair she normally occupied, his brows drawn into a frown that deepened the longer she stood in the door. “Miss Chitester.”
“Mr. Ferrand.” She looked to her man of business. “I’ve come to talk about Mr. Butler’s—”
“Amelia,” Drake interrupted with a quiet word and a smile. “Mr. Ferrand is here to discuss how the distillery can help him distribute a large supply of French wine he’s inherited.”
Wine. His solution was to bring her another alcohol that aged for years?
“It’s ready to sell as soon as we get it over the channel and into bottles,” Drake said. “Good quality and a fair price. It will go quickly.”
“Can we get it over easily?” Lost in details and decisions, she forgot they weren’t alone.
“Richard can send word to the winery to deliver the casks to the port. I have a colleague who can bring it over.” Drake paused for a moment. “Though bottles will be an issue.”
“There are crates of empty bottles in Rosnay.” Richard still frowned as he looked between them. “They could bottle it there.”
Amelia rubbed the tip of her tongue against the roof of her mouth, imagining how red wine would meld with barley and figs, or apples. “What’s the bouquet?”
Richard blinked at her, no doubt shocked by her question. Men expected young ladies to simply drink what was poured for them. “The grapes are mild and sweet, not sugary. More like honey,” he said. “And it tastes of oak, but the barrels are lighter than the oak here. It results in a fresher taste. It isn’t bad really.”
Amelia nodded. “Don’t bottle it there. Send the bottles with the barrels. We’ll bottle it and split the profits sixty-forty. Out of your sixty, you’re responsible for the excise. With my forty, I get your empty barrels.” She looked to Drake. “Did I miss anything?”
If she didn’t know better, she’d interpret the look in his eyes as pride, like when Father had watched her come down the stairs for her first ball. “I’ll want an additional fee to pay the shipper,” he said. “Not much above my usual, but it will mean your forty percent won’t go as far.”
But she’d have an income to help pay her first loan installment, and she’d have barrels for her next batch. Barrels already flavored with well-aged wine. “I can live with that.”
Richard’s eyes widened. “Wait. What is going on? Is this—”
“It is.” Drake waved his hand toward Amelia. “Richard, meet Eamon Brewer.”
