“A foolish one,” he conceded. “You were always too clever for such dramatics.”
A breeze teased the hem of her pelisse as they rounded the corner near the harbor green. The scent of brine and wild thyme drifted in the air, and the familiar cry of gulls overhead tugged at a half-buried memory.
“You were abroad, then, when you heard of your father’s passing?” she asked, her tone softened by curiosity rather than sympathy.
“I was,” Weld answered. He hesitated before adding, “On the Peninsula. News travels slowly, as you know.”
She inclined her head. She did know. Too well. “You served with distinction, they say.”
He gave a small shrug, as if brushing off both praise and memory. “I returned with enough scars to impress the uninformed, if that counts as distinction.”
The wryness in his voice coaxed a genuine smile from her, small but real. “You were never one to boast, my lord.”
“No,” he said, glancing at her properly for the first time. His gaze lingered, thoughtful. “But I am grateful to be here, in spite of it all.”
They reached the small tea shop overlooking the harbor, its windows clouded with the salt-fog that clung to the glass and softened the view beyond. The bell above the door gave a polite chime as they entered, and the familiar scent of bergamot and warm bread wrapped around them.
Tatiana Rostov looked up from arranging a tray near the counter, surprise brightening her features. “Lady Ravenstock! Lord Hawkesbury!” She set down the teapot and wiped her hands on her apron. “It has been too long.”
Alex offered a nod of greeting. “Miss Rostov. I’d begun to think no one else dared rival your scones.”
Tatiana laughed. “I do my best to uphold my family’s reputation, my lord. Your usual table?”
He deferred to Georgina with a courteous tilt of his head. “If Lady Ravenstock approves.”
They followed Tatiana to a corner near the window, where the hum of conversation and the low thrum of the sea blended in companionable rhythm. She returned a moment later with a fresh pot of tea and two delicate plates.
“Welcome home, my lord,” Tatiana said warmly before leaving them to their privacy.
“It hasn’t changed,” Georgina observed, stirring her tea. “The village still keeps its secrets behind a polite façade.”
“Some of them,” Alex replied. “Others have learned new tricks. There’s talk of expanding the shipyards, and a new railway line from the north.”
She smiled faintly. “Progress, then. Rowland would have liked that. He was forever sketching plans to bring more men to work.”
“And you?” he asked, watching her over the rim of his cup. “Do you like the sound of progress?”
“I like the sound of fairness,” she said. “If progress brings that, I’ll applaud it. If not, I reserve judgment.”
His mouth curved in a ghost of amusement. “You’ve not changed.”
“I should hope I have. I was twenty when we last argued about fairness.”
He gave a soft laugh. “You called me a moral philosopher without a cause.”
“And you called me a dreamer with too much sense.”
They shared a glance, brief but companionable, before she turned back to the window. The moment settled between them, comfortable in its simplicity.
Outside, gulls wheeled above the masts. Inside, the quiet clatter of cups and low conversation lent the room an intimacy that had nothing to do with sentiment, only the ease of two people remembering how to speak without pretense.
“Tell me,” she said after a moment, “what brings you back here besides your father’s affairs?”
He hesitated, setting his cup aside. “Obligation, mostly. The mine needs attention. There have been incidents.”
She nodded, her expression thoughtful. “So I’ve heard. Rowland believed there were structural faults in the lower shafts. He was drafting proposals for reinforcement before the accident.”
Weld’s gaze sharpened slightly. “Did he leave those notes?”
