Two opposites often make a terrible combination that leads to explosive results. Worse yet is the combination of truth and poor timing.
~A scientist’s observations on love
Gabe Gresham knelt beside me to help, blotting at the floor with awkward jerks of his broad shoulders. His nearness unsettled me and the air was thick with my foolish words. What was I supposed to say now?
Golda rang a tiny bell to summon the maid, and the sound echoed through my skull. “Gabe, don’t touch that. I’ve sent for someone.”
Oh, how terrible. How wretched.
At close range, I could see his comely face had settled into lines of deep maturity and untold strength, but it still wore the freshness of youth—as well as unveiled traces of hurt. There was no wondering if he’d heard my blunder. I looked down as heat climbed my neck and needled my face. Golda rang the bell a second time, with more force.
When I looked his way again, Gabe’s face warmed with a sad smile of instant forgiveness. What had I been thinking? I was here to fix, not destroy. And no one deserved kindness more than Gabe Gresham.
I tried to catch his eye again and whisper an apology, but as usual, he kept his somber gaze down on his work. Mrs. Gresham, however, had absolutely no qualms about staring openly, and the heat of her gaze warmed through the top of my head.
I rose and peeled off my damp apron, mind whirring, and Gabe took it along with the other ruined linens. I had the distant sense of loss as I handed the apron to him, as if I was forgetting something, but my scattered brain couldn’t land on what it was. Then Essie, the nervous little upstairs maid, hurried in to help, and I concentrated on not withering under the weight of my embarrassment.
“Heavens, child, where have you been?”
Essie cringed, bobbing two or three curtsies. “Sorry, ma’am. In the kitchen, ma’am.”
“What’s the rule?”
“The bell takes precedence.”
Golda glared at the maid, as if burning her instruction into the poor girl’s skull.
A few moments of silence passed as Essie knelt to clean, and Gabe strode to the window and peered around the faded drapes. “Sir Reginald will be a racer, Mother. His agility is unmatched and he’s practically built of muscle.” The words came out in his low, soothing voice and the tension disintegrated. What he did to skittish horses also worked on humans, apparently, with that deep voice working its way into the fibers of my tense muscles and loosening them. It seemed to do the same to his mother.
“Oh?” A sudden lightness came over Golda like a curtain parted over a sunny window.
“He’s bound for the derby next year, and he’ll make quite a fine showing.”
The curtain parted farther as a smile touched her lips. “I knew from the moment I saw him he held such promise. What a magnificent creature.”
How odd it was that the first benevolent words from the woman’s mouth since I’d arrived . . . were about a horse.
Golda Gresham rearranged the little tea items on the table so that the napkin was perfectly centered between her beloved red cup and its saucer. “What about Saxon? How is he handling?”
“Better, but aggressive since the new stallion has come. They could never share a pasture.”
“Ah, but he’s a gorgeous creature. Simply stunning.” Her eyes shone. “Is he ready to . . .” Her voice trailed as she looked to me, as if suddenly remembering I was overhearing this business discussion. “Perhaps a new pot of tea would be nice, Miss Duvall, with something in it to soothe my headache.”
I hesitated. “Should a nurse not remain with her patient?”
She leaned near, taking hold of my arm, and spoke in a dangerously low voice. “Let us be clear, Miss Duvall. I do not enjoy your company, nor do I need a nursemaid following me about. You know the purpose of your employment here, and I’ll thank you to leave me to the solace of my own company when I request it.”
Jaw tense, I bobbed a curtsey and turned to go with Essie. In the hall, the maid began to tremble and she blinked back threatening tears. “Sorry, miss. I’m such a ninny. Always afraid of being sacked.”
I gave a shaky laugh. “Not a bit of it. You should have heard my blunder.” I unearthed the embarrassing moment I’d worked to bury in the last few moments.
She threw me a pitying smile. “Don’t take it to heart, miss. That Mr. Gresham is a good sort. A fine gentleman and quick to forgive. He may not be the most commanding one in the house, but he has a strong heart and a fine nature. No one better, in fact.”
The man in question appeared in the doorway with the pile of tea-stained linens and handed them to Essie, who blushed profusely. His smile was tender as he considered her. “You’re a peach, Essie.” He lifted her hand and kissed it with gentlemanly warmth, then he disappeared down the hall.
Essie and I hurried down the servant’s stairs with the linens, breathless to the bottom. The poor girl’s face flamed as we reached the kitchen.
“Now that we’re out of earshot, tell me, Essie—how have you been keeping yourself? I want to hear all about your adventures in love and mischief.”
She laughed heartily, her charming overbite apparent. “Not much to tell, Miss Duvall. No love for me, no mischief.”
I readied a fresh teacup and saucer as the fire warmed the water. “What came of the gent you spoke of when I was here before? Come, tell me everything.”
She paused, her eyes clouding as if I’d poked some sleeping giant within. Her face mottled red again. “There’s no gent.”
I pinched my lips together as regret soured my mouth. Of course there wasn’t—five years had passed and she was alone. “Forgive me. I thought there was someone who had caught your eye.”
She stoked the stove fire again and slammed the door. “It hardly matters if I’ve never caught his, now does it?”
I was suddenly aware, looking into the shining eyes of this young woman, of a fever pitch of desperation she wore when discussing men, and it softened me. “There’s nothing magical about romantic attention, you know. Truly. Sometimes it’s quite burdensome, if it comes from the wrong man.”
Her eager eyes told me she’d welcome this burden—from nearly any man. “I thought I’d met the right one, but he up and left Crestwicke some years ago.”
“Oh.” My heart drooped, but then a realization seized me and I lifted my gaze, blinking. “He departed? He’s gone, and neither of you spoke of your affection?” My words came tripping out in my excitement.
She threw me a look, but my hope only grew.
Perhaps there was a reason the letter didn’t seem to fit any of the Greshams. “Say, didn’t he used to bring you little blue flowers?”
She shrugged. “Someone did, maybe him, but those forget-me-nots are as common as grass at Crestwicke, miss. Just look out the window.”
Rolling fields spread across the yard, their grassy slopes lavishly dotted with the little blue blooms. Heavy clusters of them stood at the threshold of the cliffs, as if gathered to look over the water.
“Perhaps you ought to have the courage to say something to this man of yours.” I caught up her hands in mine. “Think of it, Essie. Think of how romantic it would be to find out he’s felt the same way all this time. Imagine what it could be like between you.”
A dreamy look clouded her face. “Aye, it would be the first stroke of luck in me sorry life. I’d best not do it though, miss. She wouldn’t like it.” She jerked her head toward the stairs and Golda Gresham.
I pinched back a smile, assailed with a sudden burst of plans and ideas. Just then the kettle whistled and she snatched it off the fire.
First, the tea.
I carried it all up to the sitting room through shadows that stretched up the dark walls and set it on the little side table. She watched from the reddish gloom until my skin prickled and I became overly aware of myself under her gaze. “Come here, Miss Duvall.”
I obeyed.
“That adorable little speech you made about not needing a man—I assume you meant it.”
“Of course.”
“Good.” She smiled. “I’d hate to think that someone at Crestwicke might cause you to stumble from your lofty ideals. There is no one here to tempt you in that manner, is there?”
I shifted in the dimness.
“Pray, allow me to provide you with an answer. There is no one at Crestwicke, servant or son, who is a fitting match for you, is that clear? It’d be a shame for you to be sent home in disgrace, with your name tarnished across the medical community.”
My heart pounded, chest tight. I curtsied and escaped to my room to change, but I couldn’t shake the tenor of underlying romance lurking in the shadows of this house. It was there, pulsing and sweeping through like a ghost, even if everyone attempted to stifle and deny it.
Until now, at least. I dug to the bottom of my valise and traveling bag for the letter, but it was not among my things. Unease tickled my skin. I dumped out the bag and checked every crevice, then glanced toward the closed door between my room and Golda’s. She wouldn’t invade my belongings, would she? I clutched the empty bag, searching around the room.
As I tied on a fresh apron, my gaze landed on my washstand, and a small paper propped there. I rose and went to collect the scrap with a single line scrawled: Meet me at the ruins if you can get away. Dusk. Well then, that would explain the lecture just now, if she’d seen this. I stuffed the paper deep into my valise, but the message had imprinted itself on my mind. I wasn’t sure what would be worse—snubbing Gabe on top of what I’d done or being caught alone with him at dusk.