“I suppose there were dozens of replies.”
“Not dozens,” he said. “An even dozen.”
So she was one out of twelve, Jane thought. Or rather Rebecca was.
“Your letter was the only one that I responded to with a request for more information.”
Jane wished she were not heartened to hear that. There was no place for emotion, especially not the one that was seeking entry into her heart. Hope only crushed her.
“I answered the other letters,” Morgan said, “but for the purpose of putting an end to them. I did that before I heard from you again.”
“And if I had not written a second time?”
“Then I would have tried again. There are churches that facilitate introductions, but it seemed wrong to apply through them the first time. I am not a godly man, and I did not want to be mistaken for one.”
“Oddly scrupulous.”
His quicksilver grin whitened the scar at the corner of his mouth. “Even a godless man can have scruples.”
Jane’s headache had subsided to a dull ache. If she slept through the night, it would be gone by morning. “I think you should go now, Mr. Longstreet. We still have the morning and part of the afternoon to come to terms. I would like to think about what I’ve learned. I imagine you will want to do the same.”
Morgan said nothing immediately. He searched her face for a long moment before he slowly got to his feet. “Breakfast?”
“Yes. I’d like that.”
“Very well. In the dining room. Does seven suit?”
“It does. I rise early.”
He smiled a little then. “At Morning Star we call that sleeping in.”
CHAPTER 3
Morgan arrived at the Pennyroyal ten minutes before his meeting with Jane. She was already in the dining room, sitting at a table near the window that had the widest view of the main street. She raised her head as he walked into the room, and he knew she had seen his approach. Her smile wavered, veering toward uncertain, as if she wondered if it would be welcome or appropriate. He thought it was both.
He shrugged out of his coat as he walked toward the table and laid it over the back of an extra chair. He tossed his hat on the seat. “Good morning, Miss Middlebourne. You’re early.”
“So are you.”
Morgan pulled out the chair at a right angle to hers and sat. “Have you ordered?”
“No. I was waiting for you.”
She sat at the table very primly, he thought. The cotton napkin already covered her lap, and her hands were folded together on top of it. Her spine was straight, not quite touching the back of the chair. The smile she’d greeted him with had already faded. She held his gaze for a moment longer and then her eyes darted to the window and the street beyond.
“You look well rested,” he said. She was wearing a crisp white shirt beneath a short-waist wool jacket the color of port wine. Her skirt was the same color as the jacket, and from what he could see, fit her closely at the waist and hips and then flared all the way to her ankles. He could not look at her shoes without an obvious examination but imagined they were as hopelessly unsuited to Morning Star as her fashionable New York clothes. “Your headache’s gone?”
She nodded. “It was kind of you to help me.” She smoothed the napkin over her lap and refolded her hands. “I thought about it again this morning, and I do remember locking my door.”
“Is that right?” Morgan shrugged. “Passing strange that you should have that memory. It opened for me.”
“So you said.” Jane briefly directed her gaze toward the door that led to the kitchen. “That young woman you mentioned last night, the one who brought you your beer, she’s working here this morning.”
“How do you know that?”
“She was here when I came downstairs. She invited me to sit where I liked and told me that you had asked her to look in on me last evening. She said she declined because I had been particular to say I did not want to be disturbed, and she hoped she had done right by minding my wishes and not yours.”
Morgan’s mouth pulled to one side. He shook his head, torn between amusement and dismay. “Did she tell you that her cousin is the sweetheart of one of the men who works for me?”
