The poet exchanged another knowing glance with his wife. She smiled. “Trust us, Mr. Ashford. The meaning will reveal itself in time.”
Adam restrained his curiosity and nodded. “Very well, then. We will make for that location in the morning.” He glanced briefly at Jane and considered her state. “Tell me, sir. Is the walk to the marsh long?”
Wordsworth shook his head. “Not at all. For I will transport you there on the morrow and show you the exact place of which the letters speak.”
Jane waved a dismissive hand. “You need not do so on my account, sir. I can walk.”
“Nonsense, young lady. I must report to Ambleside tomorrow anyway to see to my responsibilities as Distributor of Stamps. A slight detour will not render me derelict in my duties.”
Adam and Jane silently inquired of each other again and tacitly agreed. He stood. “Thank you, sir and madam, for your gracious hospitality, stellar sleuthing, and offer of transport. We accept them, one and all.”
Wordsworth stood and shook Adam’s hand in accord. “If you would, Mr. Ashford, I’d like to show you the location on a map.”
The two of them exited the room, leaving Jane and Mary behind to visit. After stepping down the hallway, Adam asked, “Where is this map?”
Wordsworth chuckled. “There is no map. Simply a ruse to separate you from Miss Hancock.”
“For what reason?”
“To ask you a question.”
“A question? What question?”
“Did you speak poetry to Miss Hancock these past days?”
Heat abruptly climbed Adam’s neck. What could he say to a renowned poet? He shrugged. “I did, a time or two. My attempts were clumsy and generally an affront to the English language.”
Wordsworth clapped him on the shoulder. “Good lad. Keep doing so, and love will find a way.”
Adam narrowed his eyes. “Are you certain about that?”
“It always does.”
With that, Wordsworth sauntered away while whistling an indistinct tune. Adam was left to wonder over his assertion and to hope for the best.
Chapter Twenty-Six
While Wordsworth’s open barouche rolled through Ambleside, Jane was at war. Her post-fever euphoria and return to the road ran headlong against a growing sense of dread. The journey would end soon, one way or another. Her possible financial outcomes ranged from hopeful to disastrous. Regardless, the miraculous friendship with her former enemy would come to a crashing halt. Dreams yet unspoken would die without ever having breathed. Her vacant stare found Beelzebub plodding along behind the carriage, drawn by a tether and lugging the baggage. His days of pampering at the Wordsworth stables had dulled much of his obstinate spirit. Now, he simply walked where the tether pulled. Jane commiserated acutely. Adam’s presence directly across from her, knees nearly touching hers, only added to the confusion. She desperately avoided his concerned gaze, only making eye contact with Aunt Hester from time to time.
“Don’t you agree, Jane?”
Aunt Hester’s question interrupted her silent campaign. Her aunt had been conversing with the men for much of the ride, giddier than Jane had ever seen her.
“Agree with what, Aunt Hester?”
“That Ambleside is a lovely town.”
She took notice of the surrounding buildings and greenery. “It seems an agreeable place.”
She avoided further conversation by fixing her attention on the passing buildings until Adam cleared his throat auspiciously.
“Would I offend anyone,” he said, “if I held Jane’s hand.”
“No, no,” said Aunt Hester.
“Not at all,” added Barlow.
She turned her eyes toward Adam. He raised a single brow. “And you, Jane?”
