She understood him, and more fascinating than that, he understood her.
Not just the Meg Foxcroft of old. Whoever she had been was gone, lost in a sea of experiences and memories she could no longer touch.
But Megnow.
Meg who made the wrong choices and raged at him. Meg who pushed him away. Meg who promised her hand in marriage to someone else—and Meg who needed help but had never been able to give any in return.
He had loved her when she wasn’t able to love him back.
Stop.A headache meandered along her forehead, and she massaged her temples in circular motions. She stood.Dear God, help me. Guide me.
She was uncertain what to do. Urgency bruised her, because Violet was dying, Uncle carried secrets, Lord Cunningham was losing hope, and whoever wished her dead was only a breath away.
She wanted Tom.
She missed him.
Maybe … just maybe, she …
No.Walls of denial rose, but a powerful, tremulous yearning knocked them down. In her heart of hearts, she already knew the truth.
She was in love with Tom McGwen.
“There he is.” Mrs. Musgrave ushered Tom into her drooping wingback chair. She grasped his chin and rubbed her thumb up and down across his cheek. “I shall never tire of seeing my young Tommy under all that beard.”
He slumped into the chair. Closed his eyes. “I cannae do it.”
“Do what?”
“Save Meg. Find the man who did this.”
“You will.” A shuffling sound, as if she’d scooted over her feather-stuffed stool and nestled close to him. She patted his arm. “Know how I know?”
“How?”
“Remember that first time I met you? I was helping Elias assemble a hat in the main room, and I heard this creaking and thudding on my roof.” She chuckled. “It was you. Climbed up there to watch little Miss Foxcroft, you did, from behind the chimney. Elias said you were trouble, but I said you had pluck. I knew right then you could do anything you wanted to.”
“This isnae so easy as climbing yer lattice,” he said through a smile.
“But you are just as strong, just as determined”—another pat—“and just as smart.”
He laughed, shook his head. As much as he knew her praise was overly enthused, the words still bolstered him. Mrs. Musgrave believed in him.
Something Papa had ceased doing.
And Meg.
Something he could not even do for himself.
Moving from the chair, he scratched at his forehead and faced the window. The one overlooking the ash-piled remains of the apothecary shop. Someone must have set to work removing the burned debris, because many of the black-charred timbers were gone.
The space was heartbreakingly empty.
“Tommy, dear, there is something I have not told you.”
Tom turned, raised a brow.
“I did not think of it before. Not until you stopped by this morning and told me of your plans to call upon Mr. Willmott.” She lifted Lenox and held him tight, despite his protesting meow. “My memory is not what it used to be. I fear you know that better than anyone.”
