Needed her childish happiness. Her young and amusing company. Her understanding heart. Why did it seem, though he had scarcely told her anything, that she comprehended all of his hurts?
She healed them without realizing. She healedhim.
“There.” Hugging the too-large coat around her, she pointed to the butcher shop.
On the outskirts of the village, the small brick building sat among weeds and thistles, with wood-framed windows littered with faded caricatures.
“You can stay here if you wish.”
“And have only half a story? I hardly think so.”
He helped her down, hustled George Washington to the ground, then tugged the pig toward the building despite protesting squeals.
After three knocks on the door, a young-looking man appeared with stained arms and questionable clumps of black and red on his white apron. Pungent odors of warm blood, salt, and juniper berries smacked them in the face. “Help you, gent?”
“I am here on behalf of Mr. Abram. Sent to sell his pig, if you shall—”
Isabella gagged. Twice. She clamped her hands over her mouth but remained standing beside him.
William cleared his throat, lest he laugh. “Mr. Abram said to name your price and—”
With a second gag, she sent William an apologetic look and darted back for the wagon.
Poor girl. A fine story this would make for her. Dragging a hand across his chin, he wiped back his grin, though the butcher seemed on the edge of one himself. They finished the transaction on affable terms, and William patted George Washington’s head before the animal was led inside. He rejoined Isabella in the wagon and whipped the reins. “Well?”
“I was wretched. Positively wretched.” She spoke while holding her nose, as defeated as if she’d just shattered a lemonade glass in an assembly room at Almack’s. “How could I be so terrible?”
“How do you feel?”
“Hmm?”
“Your stomach.”
“Oh.” She pulled the blanket back around her legs. “Do not worry. I shall not retch on you too.” She leaned forward, circling her abdomen. “At least I hope not.”
Had she not looked up just then, he would not have been caught.
But her eyes most definitely searched his face. “William Kensley, are you laughing at me?”
He had no rebuttal, and the accusation only lessened his control. A laugh busted out of him.
“How could you? The entire ordeal was insufferable. I have never been so degraded, so intolerably disappointed in myself and in the lack of strength in my own countenance. To think you would laugh at my embarrassment—”
“What other amusement is so grand in this life as laughing at each other?”
“I do not like being laughed at. Stop the wagon this instant.”
He pulled on the reins and swept his hand to the road. “By all means, if you should rather walk home, I shall be most happy to tell Mrs. Morrey you shall return by dark, if not dinner.”
“Now you are teasing me.”
“On the contrary, I am quite in earnest.”
She clenched her jaw and glanced the other direction, folding her arms over her chest, features flushed and rosy. An amusing pout, which had probably succeeded in gaining her way from Lord Gresham thousands of times.
Indeed, would probably gain her way with any man.
Including him.
