“Because, despite all that, you are so much freer to begin with than women. You may not have been allowed to choose your profession, but in all other waysyou are allowedto be free. Women only have two choices: to get married or to become spinsters. Or governesses, which is the same as becoming a spinster.” Her face darkened.
Henry propped himself up sideways to search her face in the semi-dark. “How did you end up at the Seminary?”
A variety of emotions flitted over her face. She picked out a piece of straw and folded it into smaller and smaller parts.
“Mother died at birth. Father—diedas well.” She choked, then talked on quickly, avoiding his eyes. “I was only eight. I got packed up and sent to great-aunt, Jemima. She had money, at least. She said she was too old to care for me, so she arranged I be sent to Miss Hilversham's Seminary.”
“And you loved it there.”
“It was the best thing that ever happened to me. I met Arabella there. We shared a room. And Birdie and Pen were there, too.” Lucy smiled as she remembered her friends. Then her face shadowed again. “Until I had to leave again.” Henry waited for her to continue, but she shook her head.
“I understand perfectly. It is strange, but I have the feeling we have known each other long before we've even met. I feel so comfortable with you, like I never do with anyone else. Do you think that is possible, that souls know each other before they meet?”
“It appears so.” His voice was warm.
“Tell me more about what you've planted lately.” Lucy felt exhaustion creep into her bones. Her voice was thick with sleep.
And he did. After a while, she began to snore softly. She still held his hand.
He stared thoughtfully into the darkness.
Chapter 3
The next day they left before dawn. It was as Lucy predicted. The farmer had a cart that his wife was willing to lend them for the promise of a sum from Lady Arabella. The horse was old, the cart rickety, and their pace was slower than a snail’s, but it was a means of transportation.
The day was blustery but cheerful. There was no sign of the previous night's storm. Lucy chattered away. He lit his pipe.
“I would love to smoke a pipe,” Lucy burst forth. “It is terriblyvulgar, and ladies aren’t ever allowed to be vulgar.”
He handed her his pipe.
Lucy took a drag and started coughing . “It's—cough—really—cough—quite—cough—good!” She returned the pipe with a grimace.
Henry's lips quirked upward.
“Oh, you have the nicest smile! You look disagreeable most of the time, do you know? It’s rather off-putting and makes one wonder what might’ve happened for you to perpetually look like that. Then you smile! Your eyes lighten up in a million colours of blue and the corners crinkle up in alovely way. And that sounded like an awkward, badly written love poem, so forget I ever said this. My infernal mouth!”
“Lucy—”
Lucy interrupted him to cover her embarrassment. “I've been lying to you.”
He took the pipe out of his mouth. “My eyes don't look like a million colours of blueafter all?” he teased.
Lucy blushed. “No, not that.”
“You are not friends with Lady Arabella. You have never even met her.”
“Of course Arabella and I are best friends. I love her dearly.”
“What have you been lying about then? Come tell me, I’m agog with curiosity.”
Lucy traced the wooden pattern of the seat with her index finger. “My coachman never got sick and my companion never stayed with him. I don't even own a carriage.”
He quirked up a corner of his mouth. “If it makes you feel better, I've figured out that much.”
“I did miss the stagecoach. But—” She bit her lip.
“But? Is there more?”
