Read Online The Widow of Larkspur Inn by Lawana Blackwell - Free Book Online

turned west and rolled another thirty yards before turning right into a gravel carriage drive. In the crook of the L-shaped inn was a large flagstone courtyard, fringed by stables, a coach house, gardening cottage and potting shed, and overgrown areas that had likely been a bowling green and kitchen garden. Once the five passengers were helped to the ground, the coachman began withdrawing luggage from the boot. Meanwhile, the three children stared at the back of the inn with expressions of stunned disbelief.
    “I warned you it would need some sprucing up,” Julia said, biting her lip.
    “Well, it’s certainly got the fireplaces, hasn’t it?” With typical optimism, Fiona pointed up at the six chimneys rising above the slate roof. “We’ll always be warm and cozy.”
    “But it’s such an ugly house, Mother,” Grace said. She held a hand over the top of her lard tin, as if to shield the sparrow from such a sight.
    It is at that, Julia thought. But it’s a far cry from the tenements of Saint Giles. She reached down to scoop her youngest daughter, tin and all, into her arms. Pressing the soft cheek to her own, she turned her face toward the house again. “But it’s all ours, my sweet Grace. And we’ll make it pretty.”
    She felt a touch at her arm and turned to see Philip staring at her. “When are the lodgers coming?”
    Julia reached up to tousle his auburn hair. “Our advertisements should be published in a week or so.” Following Jensen’s advice, she had sent the advertisements to newspapers in the major cities instead of to monthly periodicals, so that they would be printed sooner and receive more exposure. “We’ll find out after that.” It can work, she reassured herself, refusing to give ground to the negative thoughts that loomed in the back of her mind. God gave us the idea through Jensen—and He’ll help us make it work .
    She set Grace back on her feet, turned to the coachman, and dug his fee out of her beaded reticule. As she tipped the man an extra florin to bring the trunks and bags inside, she heard a voice as raspy as dry leaves drift over from across the lane.
    “So … ye’ve come to live in the Larkspur , have ye?”
    The group turned, and Julia sent a wave to two white-haired women seated in front of a thatched-roof cottage. She had heard of lace spinners, had even seen them used as subjects of paintings, but had never before actually seen any in person. In the centuries-old custom, the women sat in the sunlight with lap cushions, pins, patterns, and reels of thread to weave their delicate laces.
    “Yes, we have,” Julia answered genially.
    “We’re Iris and Jewel Worthy, dear.” This came from a voice as soothing as the first had been grating. “Jewel was a Perkins before she married my brother Silas.”
    “I moved in with my sister-in-law after my husband passed away,” the one named Jewel explained. Her nimble fingers never slowed down from winding threads around the pins sticking from her pillow. “Folk have called us the Worthy sisters for years, even though we ain’t blood related. And ye are …?”
    “Julia Hollis.” A wagon bearing a man wearing the fustian work clothes of a laborer passed between them, slowing so the driver could cast a curious stare at the group standing in the carriage drive. Julia offered a smile, but the man gave a quick nod in return and directed his attention back to his team. When the lace spinners were in sight again, Julia made quick introductions of her children and Fiona, then sent the Worthy sisters another wave. “It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance. We should go inside now.”
    “Ye aren’t going to sleep in there tonight, are you?” the raspy voice queried.
    Julia turned. “I beg your pardon?”
    “Nothing, dear,” Iris answered with a sharp look at her sister. “But do pop over later when you’ve time. There is something you’ll want to know.”
    Jewel’s white head bobbed in agreement. “Come alone, mind