Elizabeth regarded her, blinking in surprise. “I’m impressed with your persuasive argument. Well done. It’s annoyingly correct, but as your teacher, I appreciate that the lessons I’ve taught have certainly stuck with you.”
“So, have you considered that?” Patricia pressed.
Elizabeth took a deep breath through her nose. “I have, in a way. I… It’s hard to work through.”
“You mean you’re afraid,” Patricia issued the words as a challenge.
Elizabeth straightened. “I’m not afraid.”
“You are. You don’t want to inspect your emotions too closely and find that you can’t rationalize them with logic. Emotions involve hope, and hope is based on possible events, which means you can’t control them, and you, my friend, like control,” Patricia finished, casting Elizabeth a meaningful stare.
Elizabeth blinked, her brows knitting together. “I—”
The door opened, and Mr. Finch and LordPenderdale walked into the house. Elizabeth halted her words and watched, carefully considering what step she should take next. She needed to speak with Michael. That was only fair, but was now the time? Did he want to speak with her? Had she destroyed the friendship beyond repair? A million thoughts tumbled through her mind as she studied the two men.
As she tried to keep her attention on Michael, her eyes kept darting to Lord Penderdale, to Collin. The blood in the corner of his lip was nearly gone, but there was still some work to be done to his eye, for it was swollen shut again.
“Miss Essex, would you give me a moment of your time?” Michael asked, settling the dilemma for her.
She nodded and followed him out the door. He paused on the lowest step of the stoop. Looking up, he gave her a sad smile.
Her heart broke at the sight, knowing she was the cause and not knowing how to fix it, not when giving him what he wanted would force her to lie to him and herself.
“Mr. Finch, I—” she began and then sighed. “I’m sorry.” She peeked down to her shoes, then forced her eyes up; he deserved eye contact. “I’m sorry I can’t return the sentiments you generously offered,” she said softly. “And I apologize further for the earlier display and wish for you to know that I never meant to cause you harm, but I did, and forthat I’m truly sorry,” she finished, the words tumbling out of her.
Mr. Finch glanced down at his own boots, then nodded, lifting his eyes. “I appreciate your honesty, but there’s no need for an apology. You’re entitled to your own emotions, Miss Essex, and you do me honor by not toying with mine.”
“I would never,” Elizabeth asserted.
“I know,” Mr. Finch answered, and then took a deep breath. “Well, now that we’ve finished that…” He gestured back to the house.
Elizabeth nodded and began to turn but paused. “Thank you.”
He gave another sad smile and opened the door for her to proceed into the house.
Collin was sitting in the chair, a rag pressed firmly against his eye as Patricia cleaned up the remaining bloody ones.
Elizabeth sighed, then stepped forward to Collin. “May I?” she asked, holding out her hand for the rag.
Collin removed it from his eye and slowly handed it over.
“Thank you.” She dipped it back in the water, wrung it out, and then cleaned up the remaining dried blood. Her hands buzzed at the contact with his skin as she traced along the corner of his eye. Her eyes fixed on anywhere but meeting his, though she felt his attention locked on her face.
Next, she set the rag aside and lifted the jar of honey. Removing the lid, she used her fingers to gently smooth the sticky liquid along the cut next to his eye, careful to keep it safely away from his lashes. She wasn’t sure if honey stung if it got in the eyes, but she didn’t want to test that question this evening.
After that, she turned to the cut beside his lip. It wasn’t deep, but still would benefit from some attention. She dipped a clean finger into the honey jar and turned her attention to his lips. Gently, she dabbed the honey along his cut, her fingers brushing against his light stubble. The small prick of it sent gooseflesh up her arm. His lips were faintly swollen, but with no further injury, and she struggled to force her scrutiny from them.
“Thank you,” he whispered.
She flicked her gaze upward to his eyes, regretting it the moment she did. It was impossible to tear her eyes away; she was locked, trapped, and truly not fighting it at all as she drank in his expression. Even with one good eye, he was handsome.
She forced her mind to work and decided that wit would be her salvation. “Purple is a good color for you.”
Collin’s eye crinkled in amusement, but then he winced. “I think I’ll have the guise of a dashing pirate.”
“Dashing is questionable, but pirate? Certainly.” Elizabeth stood and closed the honey jar, then set the rags aside.
“I’m dashing on a bad day. As a roguish pirate, I’d be devastating,” he said, playing along.
