She slipped her fingers over her face.
“Look at me, ye wee little ninny.” He pried back her hands. “Wouldn’t ye know I was thinking to ask the same of ye?”
“You were?”
“I’ve done little more than leave ye to yerself in that dashed room of mine or drag ye along for errands.”
“You bought me shoes.”
“And I’ve no friends for ye. I’ve not even taken ye to church.”
“Meade is my friend. And Gyb.”
“ ’Tis not so grand as ye’re saying, Joanie. Any other brother would have done better for ye.”
“No, Tom.” She leaned up and with her good arm wrapped herself close to his neck. She kissed his cheek. “Isaac and Moses never rode me on their back when I was little. They wouldn’t talk to me like you do, now that I’m grown.”
“Ye’re not so grown as all that.” He laughed, though it sent pain rippling along his bruised ribs. “Enough of this fuss. Lie down with ye and go back to sleep.”
“You’ll be here?”
“Aye.”
“What will we do tomorrow?”
“Rest.” And show Meg the letter. Because as much as it would frighten her and make her question everything, she deserved the truth.
Lord Cunningham spoke very few of his usual pleasantries on the journey home. Every moment or so, he licked his thumb, turned a worn page ofA Guide to Health, and swayed with every jostle in the road without bumping her elbow.
Which he had done, more than once, on the arriving trip.
“I fear you are terribly angry with me, my lord.”
“I am never angry.” He turned another page. “As I am wont to telling Violet, only momentarily disappointed.”
“If my conscience would allow me to apologize, I would.”
“But it does not?”
“No.” She sighed, placing her hand on the glossy blue edge of the landau. An afternoon breeze rustled across the countryside, scented of brine and flora. “Not when I am certain I would have made the same decision again.”
“Then it is of necessity we discuss the matter no further, my dear. I cannot be persuaded to your opinion, and it is certain you cannot be persuaded to mine. Thus”—he snapped his book shut and finally glanced at her—“what do you say we put last night out of our minds? Indeed, this whole trip entirely?”
“I am agreeable to such terms.” Meg smiled and held out her hand. “Friends again, then?”
He pulled her fingers to his lips. “Friends again, my sweet one.”
They settled back into silence, albeit a more comfortable one, and Meg took to watching the fishing vessels in the distance. They bobbed up and down in rhythm to the sea, some twenty feet beneath the high road.
The beach below was secluded. Jagged rocks were scattered among the rust-colored sand, and the sloping hill between the road and the shore was dotted with bright yellow flowers. Had she come here with Tom? Had she watched him set sail on his boat each morn, then waited for his return each eve? Had she teased him? Told him her secrets?
Loved him?
She forced her eyes back to the road. No matter if she had. Meg Foxcroft—niece of an apothecary, girl of mystery and mischief—was as far removed from who she was now she could not even reconcile the two.
Azingshot past her ear.
“Oh.” She shifted. “What was …”No.
