“The talk of Bloody Thom is everywhere,” Duffy confirmed. “I’ve had half a dozen ladies from London ask if I’ve seen him myself.”
“What did you say?”
“I told them that the actual legend is about the healing power of love.”
“A perfect reply. How did they respond?”
“Well, I’ve had two proposals to elope to Gretna Green.”
At her friend’s wry expression, Gigi giggled.
“I think the only blacksmith’s anvil you wish to visit is the one here in Chuddums,” she said in a teasing whisper. “During the gala, I saw you and Mr. Keane crossing paths at the pump.”
Her handsome, charming, urbane friend turned a telltale shade of red. “We, er, talked.”
“It went well?”
“Rather.”
“Oh, Duffy. I am so happy for you.”
She gave his hand a squeeze, and they exchanged giddy smiles.
“I had best be on my way,” she said. “Even with the clean-up completed, Miss Letty is having trouble convincing guests to return. Mama and I thought that if we spent the afternoon at the spa, others might follow suit.”
“A splendid idea,” Duffy said. “I shall spread the word that the bath is fully operational. It will take more than a curse—or attempted murder—to keep Chuddums down.”
Mama suggested walking to the spa, and even though Gigi knew what was coming, she agreed. They strolled through the village green, where the obelisk dedicated to Abel Pearce cast a long and gloomy shadow.
“I cannot believe Ethan contributed to that monstrosity,” Mama said.
“He regrets it.” Shivering, Gigi felt the monument’s darkness pass over her as they walked by. “He was merely trying to get rid of Mrs. Pearce.”
They continued along the square. A few enterprising villagers had set up barrows to sell goods to tourists, and the air was scented with roasting chestnuts and freshly baked pies. Outside the Briarbush, Mr. Thornton was doing brisk business selling cups of steaming mulled cider. Wally, wearing an eye-catching fuchsia coat, stood on a crate giving free lectures about “historic sites,” including the old churchyard and the abandoned mill on the outskirts. Now and again, Gigi and her mama stopped to exchange pleasantries with acquaintances, making sure to share where they were headed. When they turned onto Spring Lane, the crowd had thinned and it was just the two of them.
“What has happened to us, Gigi?”
The non sequitur caught her off guard.
“How do you mean, Mama?” she asked warily.
“You used to trust me.”
Gigi could manage Papa’s sternness. Being the youngest and his only daughter, she knew he had a soft-as-pudding spot for her. Yet she had no defense against the hurt in her mama’s eyes.
“I do trust you,” she said.
“Then why will you not confide in me about Mr. Godwin?”
Because I do not think you will approve. Because my feelings are too confusing. Because I think…I think I’ve fallen in love with him, and I don’t know if it is a mistake.
“It is complicated,” she hedged.
“Trust me when I say that I am capable of understanding complicated matters of the heart.”
“But you and Papa have the perfect marriage.”
To Gigi’s surprise, Mama laughed. “Nothing is ever perfect, dearest.”
