“And they’re spelled all wrong.” He shoved the cloth into his pocket. Annoyed. Exposed. Vulnerable once again to a woman, an event he’d sworn he’d never repeat. A sigh ripped out of him. “I suppose you may as well know I suffer from congenital word blindness.”
If the slightest amount of pity welled in her eyes, he’d stomp upstairs, short of breath or not, and pack her bags for her.
She merely leaned back on her heels. “But these books.” She swept her hand toward the towering shelves. “You are so well read. How do you manage that?”
“Time. Just because it’s difficult for me to read doesn’t mean it is impossible, though most who know of such a debilitation would label me an ignoramus.”
“Then they are the real fools. You suffer a challenge, not an incapacity.”
“Easy for you to say. You’re not the one who got kicked out of school or fled the country because of it.” A churlish response,and he knew it, but there was no way to explain the shame he’d been forced to swallow over the years. Especially from his father.
“What has any of that to do with putting letters in the wrong spot? Well, school I can understand, but leaving England?” Her eyes narrowed. “This is tied in with Louisa, isn’t it?”
Despite his frustration, admiration for her quick mind sneaked up on him. “You are too smart for your own good.”
“And you seem as if you’ve not dealt with the past.” Rising, she brushed off her skirt and took the chair adjacent to him. She curled her legs beneath her, like a cat ready for a good long sit. “It might be good to speak of such things. Bottling up bad memories is a recipe for broken glass. So ... what happened?”
The question loitered on the air, where he left it for several heartbeats. He didn’t believe for one second that voicing what had happened would remove his scars ... and yet he also knew Ami would not be put off.
Blowing out a ragged breath, he plowed his fingers through his hair. “A proposal gone bad is what happened. I thought she loved me, but it turns out the only one Louisa Allen ever really loved was herself.”
He rubbed his hand along his thigh, antsy despite his exhaustion. “I poured my heart into a deeply personal poem for her, believing it would express the depths of my affection more than the spoken word. It wasn’t meant for public consumption. Ever. It wasn’t even ready to share with her when she found it. And instead of treasuring it as a token of my love, she saw it as an opportunity to elevate herself.”
His voice crackled with bitterness as he continued. “Louisa claimed it was nothing but a lark, just a playful way to gain attention at the Witherspoons’ ball when she read it aloud, making sure to point out my spelling blunders.”
“How awful.” Her words hissed in time with the sizzle of the coals in the hearth. “Why would she do such a thing?”
“At the risk of sounding conceited, I believe it was due to my looks and fortune. She came from blue bloods. I came from money. She wished to knock me down a few pegs, revel in thepower she had by birth over me. Use my vulnerable expression of love as a means to diminish me in front of others.” He looked away, reluctant to meet Ami’s gaze. “You have no idea what it’s like to be laughed at for baring your soul.”
“Yes, I do.”
He swiveled his head to face her, unsure if he’d heard correctly, so soft was her voice.
She toyed with the button on the cuff of her sleeve. “I’d written a paper once, a culmination of my research into Egyptian burial rituals. I thought it would spark an in-depth discussion amongst my father’s colleagues, but all it earned me was derision. Most claimed it was my father’s work. The rest scorned my findings, saying a woman couldn’t possibly understand such a nuanced subject, that females are too simpleminded.”
Ami Dalton was many things—unorthodox, outspoken, lovely—but before a court of law she could never be accused of being simpleminded. “You are the most intelligent woman I know. I am sure your insights were brilliant.”
She faced him with a lift to her lips. “And I am certain Louisa was a fool.”
He inhaled deeply, her words a balm. As her gentle voice faded along with the echoes of his own past struggles, right there in the middle of his study, weak and weary and worn, he felt the presence of God’s love enveloping him. Enveloping them. Almost as if a divine hand reached out, assuring him his vulnerabilities were not signs of weakness but were in fact opportunities for God’s love to be made perfect. Love, a sentiment he’d dismissed ever since Louisa, now lingered at the edges of his thoughts like an unexpected guest, challenging the cynicism he’d held on to for far too long—beckoning him to let go of it. Unbidden, he laid his hands in his lap, palms open, a silly symbol of release.
Yet one that resonated deep within.
Untucking her legs, Ami rose and once again knelt at his side. Her eyes were luminous, lit with the sort of ethereal glow that only a master painter could capture.
“You need never fear that I will shame you,” she whispered.
His throat closed, and he reached out, gently laying his hand upon her cheek. “Nor I you,” he whispered back.
How long they sat thus, he couldn’t be sure, but he’d do so for all eternity would God allow it.
At length, she pulled away. “I suppose I should get back to work. After all, I’m not the recuperating patient, and those artifacts aren’t going to tally themselves. Whoever ends up purchasing the lot will want a full accounting.”
“Ah yes, about that.” He rose and offered his hand, righting her before spilling the bad news. “I heard back from the Cairo Museum. They didn’t offer anything close to what Harrison can pay.”
“Enough for Sanjay?”
He shook his head. “I’m afraid not. Gil gets half of the profits, as per our business contract.”
