Morning Frost and Shared Warmth

Two hours later, a series of discreet, respectful knocks sounded at the heavy oak doors of the ancestral library. Tristan, who had pulled on his flannel trousers and dark wool sweater, walked across the Persian carpets and opened the door. Mrs. Hughes stood in the corridor, accompanied by two footmen carrying large brass trays laden with silver-domed warming dishes, a large pot of freshly brewed French roast coffee, freshly squeezed…