Now as Sarah started down the path, her gaze naturally drifted to that familiar Celtic cross beside the bendy elm tree.
She stopped midstride, shoes scuffing the path. A man stood before the grave, fair head bowed, hat in his hands. Her pulse accelerated. Surely it was a trick of the fog....
The man looked up.
Her feet moved of their own volition. She was determined to get closer, to make sure.
Her heart thumped in recognition. “M-Mr. Henshall. I ... am sorry to intrude, but—”
His fair eyebrows rose. “Miss Summers. Not at all. I am happy to see ye. I planned to stop by Sea View next but thought I ought to pay my respects first.”
Sarah swallowed, her throat suddenly tight, and murmured, “Of course.”
He was well dressed in buff trousers, light waistcoat, dark blue coat, and simply tied cravat. With his hat in his hands, his coppery blond hair fell over his brow, ruffled by the breeze. Fatigue shadowed his eyes; he was likely tired after the long journey. Even so he looked remarkably handsome.
Was she staring?
She very much feared she was.
With effort, she shifted her gaze and walked over to stand beside him.
For a moment, she stood silently, solemnly regarding the headstone and its epitaph.
Katrin McKay Henshall
Beloved Wife and Mother
Forever in Our Hearts
According to the engraved dates, she had been gone over four years now, a year longer than Peter, her former betrothed, who had died of yellow fever during a journey to the West Indies.
After a few quiet moments, he said, “Ye canna imagine how sorry we were to return home and learn we had missed ye.”
Oh, Sarah could well imagine it. “We were quite disappointed aswell. I did receive your letter of explanation but have yet to reply. Now I suppose I need not. Thank you for writing; I was sorry to hear Effie’s grandfather fell ill.”
“He seems quite recovered now.”
“Good.”
He nodded, and an awkward silence followed.
She looked around the churchyard. “Did Effie not come with you?”
“To Sidmouth, aye. Still not keen to visit her mam’s grave, however. I left her quite happily eating cake in the York Hotel.”
“The York Hotel?”
“Aye. We didna wish to presume....”
“There they are!” Georgie called from the gate, striding into the churchyard and all but dragging Effie by the hand behind her. Noticing the graves, Effie pulled away and hung back.
In the year and a half since they had last seen Effie, she had grown markedly taller. Even so, the two-year difference in the girls’ ages had become even more evident. Seeing them side by side, Sarah saw with new eyes how much Georgiana had grown up. She looked like a young woman next to slender, coltish Effie, whose ginger hair hung loose around her narrow, freckled face, ears protruding through the fine strands. By comparison, Georgie had womanly curves, thick brown hair pinned back, blue eyes like Sarah’s, and a pretty face with high cheekbones.
Now Georgie beamed. “Look who I found at the York Hotel!”
Moving toward the girl, Sarah gave her a gentle smile and laid a hand on her shoulder. “Effie. How good to see you again.”
“And you, Miss Sarah.”
