“I recollect that was the gist of Reverend Midwinter’s sermon last time I was churched in James Towne. Before I fell asleep.”
She nearly laughed. The reverend, bless him, was notoriously long-winded. “So, you were paying attention?”
“Not word for word, mayhap.” He gave her a sidelong glance. “I also recall something about speaking the truth in love.”
Startled, she stared absently at her own cup. Might this be the opening she needed? A divine prompting? Summoning all the wits she possessed, she began a bit haltingly. “In that respect, ’tis time I do the same...”
He looked at her, his features suddenly earnest. Inquiring.
“I—I beg your forgiveness.” The surprise in his eyes left her more tongue-tied. “The asking comes late. I should have done so as soon as I spoke the hasty words once you docked that terrible day. The lapse has haunted me ever since.” Even now the old shame of it burned. “There is no reparation I can make for so foolish an outburst.”
A weighty pause. “You simply spoke out of your affection for Mattachanna and Oceanus.”
She had, but ... “Does it not grieve you?”
“Not as much as it grieves you.” Yet he seemed relieved to have it aired at last. “I am a man not much undone by words or blows or accusations. I am more moved by your softness, your depth of feeling.”
For a few fleeting seconds, Alexander Renick lost that stoic, self-possessed manner that marked him. A rare pensiveness turned him vulnerable, his expression easing, features less firmly set. Or was it not pensiveness at all but something else entirely? Reaching out, he took a tendril of hair the wind had pulled free of her coif and coiled it behind her ear.
His touch turned her soft as candle wax. And then just as quickly his hand fell away as if burned. Their locked gazes broke and wandered to the table where the wedding buns were being devoured, bride and groom giving a customary kiss over the great mound of them.
Cecily waved a gloved hand, a lovely satin pair gifted by Phineas, her nosegay of orange blossoms and myrtle clutched in the other. With a trilling laugh, she tossed the flowers Selah’s way. They landed at her slipper-clad feet, their ribbon undone. Amused, Selah pressed her fingers to her mouth lest her sip of punch spill out as Xander knelt and retrieved them.
He passed her the tousled blooms after retying their ribbon. “Do you give much credence to the old wives’ tale of catching the bouquet?”
“Not in the slightest.” Still, she brought the blooms to her nose, inhaling their sweet, earthy scent.
A flicker of something she couldn’t name passed over his sun-glazed features. “Is there no man that moves you, Selah Hopewell?”
He wasn’t looking at her but at all the color and confusion in the garden around them, yet she flushed to the roots of her upswept hair all the same. What could she possibly say to this? Had he seen her talking to Helion Laurent? Did he suspect...?
Heaven forbid.
“I ask because my aunt asked me,” he confided. “And I had no answer.”
She stared down at the blooms in her hands. Dare she reveal the state of her heart? “You may tell your aunt that aye, there is such a man, but...”
A wicked grin turned him roguish again. “But you will make no more mention of him than I my would-be bride.”
She fought a sudden breathlessness. Such a delicate affair. She would not force it. “I cannot help but think of the possible peace exchange and other pressing matters.”
“The council’s decision should come by sennight’s end.”
“Is it true that Oceanus is returning also?”
An affirming nod. “He’s already at sea, or should be. Pray for a swift, uneventful voyage.”
Prayers aside, his leaving England guaranteed nothing. Yet she shooed away any melancholy. “I have no words for how his homecoming heartens me. Four is a delightful age.And Rose-n-Vale must seem a paradise for one so small. My prayers won’t cease till he’s in your arms again.”
“His grandfather wants to see him. His daughter’s death and burial in England are not forgotten, nor likely forgiven. He asks if anything of Mattachanna resides in her son.”
“I understand, though such is fraught with...”
“Complexities,” he finished for her.
“Thankfully, your time is your own now that you’re leaving the council. You’ll not be so often in James Towne.”
“Yet I hear dismay in your voice all the same. Would you have me stay and come to blows with the governor and his men?”
