Page 63 of His Spirited Lady
She did as he suggested, but only because she was headed that way of her own accord. Once inside, she went to Florence’s desk and reviewed the ledgers the girl had been so nervously reviewing. Her figures were neat, her work visible, and the percentages were accurate. She also had a kind heart and a sensible nature. Drake had been right—she was a good employee.
Satisfied, Amelia hung her coat on the rack in her office and retrieved her favorite stool. An empty bucket and a crate of bottles sat waiting next to the white whiskey still.
Before settling in for the long job of decanting, she lifted a paddle from the wall and pushed it into the mash tub until it struck the bottom. The wheat eventually yielded as Amelia put her shoulder into the paddle and walked around the tub. The water created a current that swirled the ingredients together. The scent of autumn floated upward, and the stirring became easier.
After five good turns around the tub, she returned the paddle to its resting place. Hands on her hips, she rolled her shoulders and stretched her back. The quiet of working alone usually appealed to her, but right now, her attention was outside in the cold. On a whim, she set coffee to brewing on the cast-iron stove in the corner.
With no other alternative, she took her place on the stool, put the bucket under the still, and turned her head to avoid the fumes as the top of the whiskey poured from the tap. It didn’t take long for the smell to turn sweeter, until all of it smelled of figs and oranges.
The glass bottle was cool against her fingers, making it easy to mark how fast it filled with warm whiskey. One bottle. Two. Three.
“Amelia?” Richard called.
“Behind the still.”
He carried a load of firewood to the stove and poured a cup of coffee. “Thank you for this.”
She thought he might leave and battled disappointment. It was foolish to expect him to stay when he had work to do as well.
“You need a taller stool.” Richard placed a chair beside her and sat, his knees level with her ear.
“I tried that. I have to bend too far to fill the bottles.” She kept her focus on the tap. She couldn’t afford to waste any of her product. “Besides, this is my lucky stool.”
“How so?” He nudged her hand with an empty bottle.
Amelia set the full bottle to her left and took the empty one. “I was sitting on it the day I brewed my first drinkable whiskey.” It sounded foolish out loud.
“Oliver and I have our first axes mounted in our primary office. They remind us of where we started. Why we did it.”
She tried to imagine him in his office. “Are you the bookkeeper?”
“I’m the surveyor and the buyer. Oliver does the numbers.” He toyed with the bottle while he waited for her to finish the one in her hands. “Or he did. Now I do it all, at least most of the time.”
The words were missing his smile, and she understood why. “It’s a big job to do alone,” she said. “Solitude is good for thinking, but too much of it…”
“Exactly,” he said. “I’ve missed having family nearby.”
“Which is why you’re sitting with me, watching me fill bottles.”Drat. That sounded wrong.“Not that I’m family, of course.”
While that held to the terms of their agreement, it left an ache.
“Of course.” He tugged one of her curls. “Even though I’m spending the day with your father.”
“He most likely wants a walk away from the house. We do it all the time.” The scent of the whiskey turned again, less fermentation and more fruit. She switched off the tap and began stopping the bottles. “He’ll bring home enough game to fool Mother, but mostly he just loves being outdoors.”
Richard shifted his place and joined her in her work, his large hands surprisingly agile. “Will you join us?”
She shook her head. “I can’t stand shooting small animals. I know they end up in the pot, but I prefer to see them in the forest when I ride.”
Richard lifted the full crate and balanced it on his hip before offering his hand to help her stand. “Are you finished here then?”
There was no way to start another batch and have it bottled before she had to go London. “I am.”
She had no idea what she’d do all day. After weeks of having to be in two places at the same time, having a day to herself was a luxury.
Richard went to the bottling room while Amelia fetched her coat. They stopped in the barrel room while she fished in her pocket for her keys.
“You could uncork one of those barrels and have a tasting session.” He waggled his eyebrows.
