“Did you discourage suitors, Miss Middlebourne?”
“Discourage them? Why ever would you think that?”
“Because if you gave a man the slightest hint that his attentions would be welcome, there is no fence that Cousin Frances could have put up that would have stopped him.”
Jane stared at him blankly. His words were slow to register. When she understood what he was saying, laughter rolled lightly at the back of her throat. “It is your humor again, isn’t it? You are teasing me.”
“You embrace some peculiar notions about yourself.”
She sobered. “What do you mean?”
Morgan shook his head slightly and released a short sigh. “Maybe it doesn’t matter. Maybe it’s for the best.”
Before Jane could ask him to explain further, he rose and headed for the kitchen. This was done without so much as a by-your-leave. Watching him go, Jane realized he was not in the habit of excusing or explaining himself. It was not that he had no acquaintance with manners. He walked on the street side of the boardwalk when he escorted her, tipped his hat to acknowledge passersby, did not slurp or spit or slouch. She caught herself and amended this last point. Morgan Longstreet did slouch. In fact, he had not been introduced to a chair that could keep him upright or all four of its legs on the ground. Jane accepted this as pardonable since there was no evidence of poor posture when he stood, and his rolling, rhythmic stride kept him straight and tall.
It was probably good that she had defined some standards, she thought, no matter how arbitrary they were. Otherwise, she risked seeing him not as he was but as she wanted him to be. He had already done that where she was concerned; it was the only thing that accounted for his observation about men who would not be discouraged by fences. If he truly had not said it to tease her, then the comment meant he was deceiving himself into believing that she was more like Rebecca Ewing of the photograph than she was like Jane Middlebourne of the letters. He could say that he wanted the virtues of strength, but what he wanted was to walk with beauty.
Jane recalled what he’d said before he left the table. Perhaps it applied here: Maybe it doesn’t matter. Maybe it’s for the best.
Her thoughts were interrupted by Morgan’s reappearance. He was not alone. He had Mrs. Sterling with him.
Without preamble, Mrs. Sterling said, “Morgan wants me to tell you straight up that if you think he has a sense of humor, you are the only one.”
Jane blinked and needed a moment to orient herself. She supposed Mrs. Sterling’s statement was in response to her own comment about Morgan teasing her. “Is it true?” she asked. “I understand he wants you to say it, but is it true?”
Mrs. Sterling pushed her spectacles up until they rested above her salt-and-pepper widow’s peak. She regarded Jane with slightly narrowed eyes. “You think he could convince me to lie for him?”
“I do, yes.”
Ida Mae’s head snapped sideways, and she looked sharply in Morgan’s direction. “Did I not say she is no one’s fool, least of all yours? Now I did what you asked, and you can see for yourself what’s come of it.”
Morgan’s lip curled, but the tips of his ears reddened. “It was not one of your finer efforts.” He dodged Mrs. Sterling’s attempt to give his earlobe a tug and put up a hand to forestall her second attempt.
“He should have the grace to blush,” she said, turning back to Jane.
“Then he does have a sense of humor?” Jane asked.
“Oh my, yes. Not so you can tell right off, but it’s there. Wicked, too. I don’t suppose many folks know that about him, so he really should have asked someone else for an opinion.” Mrs. Sterling wiped her hands on her apron, reset her spectacles on the bridge of her nose, and looked askance at Morgan. “Anything else?”
“No, you have been extraordinarily helpful. It’s hard to know what else I could possibly ask.”
Ida Mae Sterling winked at Jane. “See? That’s his wit. Dry as four-day-old cake.” She turned smartly and headed back to the kitchen.
Shaking his head, Morgan sat. “Lesson learned.”
“Then something has been accomplished. Why did you do it?”
He shrugged lightly. “An attempt to remove the scales from your eyes, I suppose. I was probably right that it doesn’t matter.”
Since Jane had been thinking along similar lines, she thought she understood. “It is in our nature to see what we want to see first and come to the truth later.” She hesitated, thoughtful. “Or never come to it at all.”
Morgan did not argue her point. He checked his pocket watch. “We have almost five hours. What do you propose we do?”
“Will you take me to Morning Star?” Jane was not surprised when he did not answer immediately.
“I suppose I could take you to see the house,” he said finally. “You’re probably most interested in that anyway.”
“I would be pleased if you would show me the house.”
