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Authors: Stephanie Laurens
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talked and laughed all the harder.”
Silence stretched, then he prompted, “So on the basis of that one episode…”
She laughed. “No, but it did mean I had my eyes open the next time you appeared.”
“Frederick’s funeral.”
“Yes.” She let her memories of that time color her tone; Frederick’s death had been a shock to the entire county. “You were late—you arrived just as the vicar was about to start the service. The church door had been left open, there were so many people there, but the center aisle had been left clear so people could see down the nave.
“The first I or anyone knew of your presence was your shadow. The sun threw it all the way into the church, almost to the coffin. We all turned and there you were, outlined with the sun behind you, a tall, dramatic figure in a long, dark coat.”
He humphed. “Very romantic.”
“No, strangely enough you didn’t appear romantic at all.” She glanced at him. He was concealed within the shadows of the archway, leaning back against the arch’s side, looking out; she could discern his profile, but not his expression. She looked back at the rain-washed fields. “You were…intense. Almost frighteningly so. You had eyes for no one but your family. You walked to them, straight down the nave, your boots ringing on the stone.”
She paused, remembering. “It wasn’t you but them, their reactions that made me…almost certain of my suspicions. Your mother and James hadn’t expected to see you; they were so grateful you were there. They knew. Your sisters had been expecting you, and were simply reassured when you arrived. They didn’t know.
“Later, you explained you’d been held up, and that you had to rejoin your regiment immediately. You didn’t exactly say, but everyone assumed you meant in London or the southeast; you intended to leave that night. But it had rained on and off for days—it rained heavily that night. The roads were impassable, yet in the morning you were gone.”
She smiled faintly. “I don’t think many others, other than I presume the Fowey Gallants, realized your appearance and your leaving coincided with the tides.”
Minutes ticked past in silence, the same restful, undisturbing silence they’d often shared up there, as if they were perched high in a tree on different branches, looking out on their world.
“You were surprised I didn’t return for James’s funeral.”
She thought back, realized she’d felt more concern and worry than surprise. “I knew you’d come if it was possible, especially then, with James’s death leaving your mother and sisters alone. Your mother especially—she’d buried her husband and two eldest sons in the space of a few years, something no one could have foreseen. Yet that time even more than the previous one, she didn’t expect you; she wasn’t surprised when you didn’t appear—she was worried, deeply worried, but everyone saw it as distraction due to grief.”
“Except you.”
“I know your mother rather well.” After a moment, she dryly added, “And you, too.”
“Indeed.” She heard him shift, heard the change in his tone. “You do know me well, so why this hesitation over telling me what you know you should?”
“Because I don’t know you that well, not anymore.”
“You’ve known me all your life.”
“No. I knew you until you were twenty. You’re now thirty-three, and you’ve changed.”
A pause ensued, then he said, “Not in any major way.”
She glanced at where he stood. After a moment she said, “That’s probably true. Which only proves my point.”
Silence, then, “I’m only a poor male. Don’t confuse me.”
Poor male her left eye. Yet revisiting her knowledge of him, talking matters through with him, was helping; she was starting to grapple with the new him. The irony hadn’t escaped her; she’d deliberately avoided thinking of him for the past thirteen years, but now fate and circumstance were forcing her to it. To
Silence stretched, then he prompted, “So on the basis of that one episode…”
She laughed. “No, but it did mean I had my eyes open the next time you appeared.”
“Frederick’s funeral.”
“Yes.” She let her memories of that time color her tone; Frederick’s death had been a shock to the entire county. “You were late—you arrived just as the vicar was about to start the service. The church door had been left open, there were so many people there, but the center aisle had been left clear so people could see down the nave.
“The first I or anyone knew of your presence was your shadow. The sun threw it all the way into the church, almost to the coffin. We all turned and there you were, outlined with the sun behind you, a tall, dramatic figure in a long, dark coat.”
He humphed. “Very romantic.”
“No, strangely enough you didn’t appear romantic at all.” She glanced at him. He was concealed within the shadows of the archway, leaning back against the arch’s side, looking out; she could discern his profile, but not his expression. She looked back at the rain-washed fields. “You were…intense. Almost frighteningly so. You had eyes for no one but your family. You walked to them, straight down the nave, your boots ringing on the stone.”
She paused, remembering. “It wasn’t you but them, their reactions that made me…almost certain of my suspicions. Your mother and James hadn’t expected to see you; they were so grateful you were there. They knew. Your sisters had been expecting you, and were simply reassured when you arrived. They didn’t know.
“Later, you explained you’d been held up, and that you had to rejoin your regiment immediately. You didn’t exactly say, but everyone assumed you meant in London or the southeast; you intended to leave that night. But it had rained on and off for days—it rained heavily that night. The roads were impassable, yet in the morning you were gone.”
She smiled faintly. “I don’t think many others, other than I presume the Fowey Gallants, realized your appearance and your leaving coincided with the tides.”
Minutes ticked past in silence, the same restful, undisturbing silence they’d often shared up there, as if they were perched high in a tree on different branches, looking out on their world.
“You were surprised I didn’t return for James’s funeral.”
She thought back, realized she’d felt more concern and worry than surprise. “I knew you’d come if it was possible, especially then, with James’s death leaving your mother and sisters alone. Your mother especially—she’d buried her husband and two eldest sons in the space of a few years, something no one could have foreseen. Yet that time even more than the previous one, she didn’t expect you; she wasn’t surprised when you didn’t appear—she was worried, deeply worried, but everyone saw it as distraction due to grief.”
“Except you.”
“I know your mother rather well.” After a moment, she dryly added, “And you, too.”
“Indeed.” She heard him shift, heard the change in his tone. “You do know me well, so why this hesitation over telling me what you know you should?”
“Because I don’t know you that well, not anymore.”
“You’ve known me all your life.”
“No. I knew you until you were twenty. You’re now thirty-three, and you’ve changed.”
A pause ensued, then he said, “Not in any major way.”
She glanced at where he stood. After a moment she said, “That’s probably true. Which only proves my point.”
Silence, then, “I’m only a poor male. Don’t confuse me.”
Poor male her left eye. Yet revisiting her knowledge of him, talking matters through with him, was helping; she was starting to grapple with the new him. The irony hadn’t escaped her; she’d deliberately avoided thinking of him for the past thirteen years, but now fate and circumstance were forcing her to it. To
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