“Laborers pass through often enough,” The steward’s fingers retraced the path of his mustache. “Some call on me here or approach me in the village. Not much for work this time of year with the crops in already.”
Connor frowned, as the harvest had barely begun. “Is that all?”
A ponderous pause then, “Yes, my lord.”
As the steward hobbled away, leaning on his cane, Connor rolled his eyes. There was a fair chance the information the steward provided was erroneous or downright false given his memory lapses. He considered asking the housekeeper about the incident himself, although, somehow he knew Mrs. Davies would give nothing away. Not only was her expression too deadpan to read, regrettably he was still considered one of the strangers to be wary of.
If he hadn’t gained their trust by now, such a miraculous occurrence wasn’t bound to happen any time soon. He’d be met with the same blank stares he’d encountered in his initial search for Piper. What he needed was someone he could trust to ask about for him. Someone familiar in the area who wouldn’t rouse suspicion. Alas, none of his own kin beyond Fiona would fit the bill. Should he interrupt her honeymoon, she’d wear a path in the carpet with all the miles she’d tread berating him for it. The rare letters he’d sent thus far about the estate weren’t met with a warm welcome.
For the same reason, he dare not ask Harry.
Without a familiar face to serve, an innocuous one would do. Someone everyone trusted. He knew just the fellow. In the meantime, he might ride into town and investigate himself.
After he spoke to Piper.
If he could find her.
Barring a miracle, he didn’t have much choice but to wait for her to come to him.
* * *
What else am I to do? Hie myself off to America?
Why not?
Why not.
The notion seemed preposterous at the time, a jest in the face of a serious dilemma. As the days passed and Piper considered it, the more it made sense.
For the first time, she wondered if her self-imposed exile couldn’t result in a finer future than the solitary, lonely existence in this cottage tucked away in an isolated corner of the Marquis of Aylesbury’s very estate provided. It had never occurred to her to look elsewhere. Where else could she go but home?
Hiding in plain sight had passed time. Nothing more. She should have realized long ago, she couldn’t go on like this forever. Hiding but not truly living, as Connor had so sagely put it.
Connor.
Piper sighed. He intrigued, enticed, and infuriated her. She was tempted, often simultaneously, to kick him and hug him. How was that possible? In any case, she owed him an apology for losing her temper when she had invited his opinion. She’d already been on edge with the news of Harry’s return, and he’d scratched at the recently picked scab. She should seek him out.
Not only to beg forgiveness.
This time the reason she hadn’t already done sodidrevolve around that irritating adage. Fear of the unknown. The uncertainty of her welcome, what he’d say or do if she approached him had kept her at the cottage more than the rain had.
Point of fact, the rain had stopped the previous night and she persisted in dawdling rather than seeking him out as she intended. Wanted.
His company was refreshing, an invigorating combination of insight and provocation. His presence uplifting and comfortable. Each day she lingered at her cottage left her yearning to explore the possibilities of his friendship even more.
If she were honest with herself, friendship wasn’t all Connor tempted her to explore. She wanted that kiss he’d come close to bestowing upon her. Her reckless imagination had carried out that moment as it should have been. His lips on hers. His hands on her. And perhaps more.
Unfortunately, she couldn’t wait for him to take the first step. If she wanted anything more of him, she would have to go to him.
A sigh of appreciation escaped her as she took a pan of apple tarts out of the oven. Hilde told her Connor had something of a sweet tooth. Piper made them for him as a peace offering. An offering to either proceed or follow that kiss.
Whether he’d want to kiss her now that he’d taken her measure, she wasn’t certain. Headoredwomen with verve and courage. While she liked to think she bore those qualities—deep down, at any rate—she hadn’t done much to display them of late. Perhaps the time had finally come to shed the cloak of comfort and habit and reassert the woman she was meant to be.
Who she could be and was close to becoming.
Setting the tray of pastries on the work table, she swapped it for a cast iron pan of the steak and ale pie she’d prepared for her supper later. Though she took many of her meals in the manor kitchens with the trusted staff, she’d become a fine hand in the kitchen during her exile. While she preferred baking, she could cook for herself.
She could manage many things now she hadn’t been able to before. She’d gained skills and confidence, become far more self-sufficient. With those skills came options that wouldn’t have been viable before when she’d been a child who’d never plied a needle to anything more rudimentary than delicate embroidery.
