“Mr. Ashford?”
That now familiar voice was like a brilliant light, burning away his dark thoughts. He spun to face Miss Hartley. She stood only feet from him on the pavement, her pale green eyes wide with worry. She offered him a tentative smile. “I saw from the window that you and Mr. Nesbitt may have quarreled and I wanted to be certain you were well.”
That peculiar glowing was back in his chest again. “You were concerned over my well-being?”
“Of course,” she said.
The glow spread, surrounding his heart. He cleared his throat of the sudden lump that had formed there. “That’s very kind of you, but I assure you, your concern is unfounded. I’ve never been better.”
She didn’t appear to believe him. As a matter of fact, she looked as if she believed he had spewed the biggest untruth she’d ever heard. “If you’re certain,” she said dubiously.
“Of course I am.”
She gave him a long look before, with a nod, she turned to go back inside the shop.
He watched her, feeling a sudden loss. Without warning, he found himself calling out to her. “Miss Hartley, why don’t you like to shop for dresses?”
She froze, her hand on the door, and turned to look at him. There was surprise in her eyes, which was quickly hidden. “I’m not certain such an answer would interest you.”
“I believe it would,” he said softly, stunned to find that he meant it.
She swallowed hard and, after staring at him closely for a moment, stepped back to the pavement. “My father is a very…exacting…man,” she said with difficulty. “Don’t mistake me. He loves me.” Her features tensed for a moment, something like pain or uncertainty flashing in her eyes. Then she blinked, and it was gone. “Shopping for clothing, any clothing, tends to be a fairly tedious business, as he oversees every detail. Everything you see on my person, from my bonnet to my gloves to my shoes, has been chosen with care and precision by him.”
His eyes traveled down her dress. Not that he knew the first thing about fashion, but even he could see the fine quality of the gown. It was made from some brown material that shimmered as she walked. Light blue braid decorated the front, from the high starched neck to the stiff hem. The sleeves were puffy, cinched tight at the wrists, and decorated with more of that braid. The hat was some monstrously huge confection with a wide brim and a tall crown, a pale blue ostrich feather bouncing ostentatiously from the band. The whole thing was too cold, too exact, containing not a bit of her warmth and kindness.
His sudden intuition into this woman’s character had him reeling.
Shaken, he was tempted to murmur some platitude and excuse himself.
Yet when he looked into her eyes, he saw a vulnerability there that he could not turn from.
“Perhaps,” he said, slowly and carefully, “now is your chance to do as you wish, to find your own style.”
The look she gifted him with could only be described as dubious. “I doubt I have my own style, Mr. Ashford. I’ve certainly seen neither hide nor hair of it up till now.”
“Mayhap you were never given the chance to find it.”
She pursed her lips.
Peter had the ridiculous urge to laugh. What the devil was he doing, trying to encourage this young woman to enjoy herself in a shopping expedition?
But he could not forget the pained look in her eyes from moments ago. Nor could he forget the kindness she’d shownhim the evening before at Lady Tesh’s dinner party. Even now, he found himself struck at the remembrance of their shared conversation, at how she’d pulled from him what he shared with so few.
“Why not at least try,” he said softly. “What have you to lose?”
She blinked. “Very well,” she murmured bemusedly. “I’ll try. Though,” she continued with a sly smile, “if I’m to subject myself to something so distasteful to me, I think it only fair you do so as well.” She motioned to the opposite side of the street and the tailor Lady Tesh had pointed him to.
He could not stop the chuckle that rattled up from his chest. She was a clever minx. “Very well. It’s a deal then.”
She smiled, and it was as if the sun had emerged from behind a cloud, bringing bright color to the world. Then she went inside, and the day seemed duller for it.
He stared after her for a time, unsettled. Then, with a frown, he turned and headed for the tailor.
***
Lenora pulled in a slow breath as they entered the Beakhead Tea Room. Small but cheerful, it was done up in bright blues and yellows, which made the interior a welcoming place even on the dreariest of days. Lenora could not count the times she had sat at one of the little round tables over the years with Margery and Hillram. So many memories crowded her mind, of laughing and gorging herself on sweets, sampling the lemonade the place was known for. And all the while the sea was a backdrop, its undulating waves licking at the fine golden sand of the beach beyond the chintz-bedecked bow windows.
She’d needed to come here, the place she’d first realized that Hillram’s feelings for her were more than hers ever could be. His happy face flashed through her mind, eyes full of a love she couldn’t return. She’d been worried then, over how his growing affection would affect their friendship. Now, however, the pain was sharp, so sharp she nearly gasped before firmly shutting the memory up tight again.
