Her attention fell to his hand, which lay open with invitation. Not only did she want his hand, she needed it. “No. I would take no offense.”
He leaned forward and reached beyond his knees. She did the same, meeting him in the neutral territory between them. His fingers gently cupped her hand and caressed it nearly imperceptibly through the glove. The dread did not abate, but a warm wave of assurance flowed through her. For the moment, she felt as if Adam had always been present in her life and would always remain so. She sighed and allowed the harmless lie to keep dark feelings at bay.
Wordsworth, who had been driving while conversing over his shoulder, glanced back to observe the clasped hands. He laughed. “You must have taken my advice, lad.”
Adam’s face flushed, and he eyed Jane with apology. “I did, however poorly.”
She cocked her head. “What advice, Adam?”
The flush deepened. He glanced sheepishly at Aunt Hester and Barlow, apparently remiss to admit the details. Jane gazed intently at him until forcing a confession.
“Mr. Wordsworth advised me to express my admiration for you as poetically as possible. I achieved the first admirably but fell woefully short in the latter.”
Her burden lessened, and she smiled as the dread fell quiet. “You underestimate yourself. I found your words perfectly sweet.”
“Perfectly awful, I think.” He rubbed his thumb across the back of her hand with gentle intimacy as Wordsworth continued to watch.
The poet smiled wryly and turned away to face the road, but not without comment. “People fail to understand that the most eloquent poetry is recited without words.”
The carriage left the outskirts of Ambleside and proceeded south for a short distance while following the River Rothay. Soon, the river spilled into a wetland mostly devoid of trees, carpeted instead by tall grass. Where the road veered west to avoid the marsh, Wordsworth halted the carriage and stood to point.
“The ruins lie just there, some three hundred yards distant. The stones rising just above the grass.”
As one, the passengers stood to follow his point. The motion put Jane squarely against Adam’s chest while still clutching his hand. She lifted her chin to find him staring at her, his face a mask. With seeming reluctance, he dipped his head and stepped sideways to break the impromptu embrace. Without thinking, she mirrored his movement, pulling against him again. The mask melted into a pleasant grin. Then, he leaned forward to peck a kiss on her forehead. Her knees buckled and she plopped to her seat. His grin gave way to an apologetic frown.
“I am terribly sorry. I don’t know what came over me.”
She collected her wits without releasing his hand and stood again. “No apology necessary.”
Wordsworth cleared his throat noisily and pointed again to the marsh. “If the children are quite finished, may I again direct your attention to the ancient fort, which lieth just there.”
“It is quite lovely,” Jane said, never taking her eyes from Adam. The carriage lurching into motion broke the spell, driving her and Adam back into their respective seats. Aunt Hester reached tentatively to grasp Jane’s forearm.
“Dear niece. Perhaps we should consider the next lines of the letter rather than the appeal of Mr. Ashford’s eyes.”
Heat climbed Jane’s neck and shot tendrils into her cheeks. She gathered her reserves of courage and released Adam’s hand. He sagged in seeming defeat. She leaned back again in her seat and quoted the lines from memory.
“Ford and run southward, a westerly way. Find all angels surveying a proud bird of prey.”
Wordsworth chuckled again. “Clever, clever. Oh, so clever.”
Barlow clasped a hand on the poet’s shoulder. “You know the meaning of the lines, do you not?”
“Yes. Mary and I are both quite familiar with the object of the riddle.”
Curiosity surged within Jane, dragging her unwillingly back into the puzzle. “What does it mean, then? Will you tell us?”
“And ruin a perfectly good surprise? Absolutely not.”
“See here, sir,” said Adam. “That is not very sporting of you.”
“Oh, but it is. In fact, my telling you would ruin the sport.”
Aunt Hester rocked forward. “Then you will tell us nothing? You will leave us to fend for ourselves like wildlings?”
He glanced back, smiling thinly. “Mostly. However, I will suggest that you cross the River Rothay along this road and make for the hamlet of Clappersgate just beyond. The River Brathay passes Clappersgate before flowing into the Rothay. Cross the Brathay there and follow the road southwesterly for a few miles. You cannot help but find both angels and a proud bird of prey.”
He turned again to face the road. Jane folded her arms and furrowed her brows. “Will you offer nothing more, Mr. Wordsworth?”
