By the timethey returned to the carriage, light spilled across the lane, chasing off the last of the morning chill. Weld helped Georgina up first, his hand brushed her elbow, warm and steady, and sure for a breath longer than necessary. She didn’t flinch. Didn’t lean in. But how peculiar, that when he let go, the absence was oddly louder than the touch.
The warmth of midday filtered through the window as they settled into their seats, the rattle of the wheels a steady backdrop to their thoughts. Georgina kept her gaze trained on the hills slipping past the glass, reluctant to let him see how deeply the morning’s impressions still unsettled her.
It was Weld who spoke first, his voice carrying the faintest thread of wry amusement. “I confess, my lady, I expected you to ask sharp questions in the mine. I did not expect you to ask Archer, the one that made him lose color beneath all that soot.”
She glanced at him, a glimmer of mischief sparking despite herself. “I rather thought he paled because I managed to keep my footing in skirts.”
“That too,” Weld allowed, the faintest smile touching his lips. “You have a talent for unnerving men accustomed to ruling their domain.”
“I should like them to remain unnerved,” she replied briskly. “Keeps them from growing too complacent.”
He tilted his head, studying her as if seeing her not merely as thelady of Ravenstock, but, in truth, as a formidable partner. “I believe they’ll think twice before dismissing you now.”
“Let’s hope they think at least once before setting another poor timber,” she replied. Then, after a beat, she added more lightly, “Though I expect Archer will lose sleep tonight wondering if I plan to return with a lamp in one hand and a lecture in the other.”
A quiet laugh escaped him, low and warm. “It would serve him well if you did.”
They settled into an easy rhythm, the tension of the mine loosening its grip. Georgina breathed more deeply, the stale air of the tunnels replaced by the honest scent of damp earth and wild thyme drifting through the window. The sunlight now carried the promise of afternoon warmth, gilding the fields in soft gold.
“And you, my lord,” she ventured. “Was this morning everything you hoped it would be?”
His gaze flicked to her, sharp and steady. “No.”
Surprise lifted her brows.
“It was more,” he said simply. “I had not expected you to see so clearly what others miss.”
She softened, just slightly, beneath the sincerity in his tone. “Perhaps because I have been blind too long myself,” she admitted.
A quiet pause passed between them, not heavy but thoughtful. Then, with a tilt of her chin, she added, “And if I should take to carrying Mr. Hughes’s papers beneath my arm, I trust you will not mock me too harshly.”
“Never,” Weld replied, his voice warm with quiet respect. “A lady armed with knowledge is the finest companion a man could hope for.”
Georgina found herself smiling, not out of politeness, but something more genuine. She turned her attention back to the window, but not before she caught the slight lift at the corner of his mouth, as if he shared the unspoken thought between them.
The mine might hold its shadows, but here in the brightening day,there was something far less grim between them. Promise.
The carriage turned into the familiar drive, wheels crunching over the gravel as Ravenstock Manor came into view. In the clearing light of midday, the old stones seemed less imposing than they had in early morning mist.
As the carriage slowed, Georgina glanced toward Weld, her brow lifting ever so slightly. “I trust you are not too battle-worn from your time underground, my lord.”
His answering smile was faint but real. “I have survived worse skirmishes, my lady. Though few as well-fought.”
Before she could respond, the footman swung open the carriage door. Weld stepped down first, then turned to offer his hand. This time, she accepted it without hesitation, and as he steadied her descent, the warmth of his palm was solid and certain beneath her gloved fingers.
Once on firm ground, Georgina paused, her gaze sweeping the house front. Sunlight gleamed off the old leaded windows, and a faint breeze teased the ribbons at her throat. Without looking at him, she said lightly, “You may not yet know, but mine inspections tend to whet the appetite.”
“I had hoped you’d say as much,” Weld replied, with a shade more ease than before. He adjusted his coat, the smudge of coal dust on his cuff, an unspoken badge of the morning’s work. “Though I suspect we have earned more than bread and broth.”
She glanced at him sidelong, amusement curling at the corner of her mouth. “Fortunate, then, that Mrs. Hemsley believes in fortifying the body as well as the spirit. Will you stay for the midday meal?”
A pause, not hesitation, but consideration. “I would be pleased to.”
“Good.” She led the way up the steps, her stride brisk, though her heart beat an unexpected rhythm beneath her composed exterior. “Perhaps you might also spare a moment to glance at some documents. I’d welcome your opinion.”
“I’d be delighted,” Weld answered, falling into step beside her.
They crossed the threshold together, the house cool and shadowed after the brightness outside. Mrs. Hemsley awaited them in the hall, her expression professionally neutral, but her eyes quietly approving as they shed their outdoor garments.
