One of his eyebrows lifted. “Oh?”
She thought he seemed a little too interested and perhaps too impressed. “You probably know more. I do not take the name of the Lord in vain, even when provoked by the beast.”
“The dragon.”
“In Mrs. Shreve’s kitchen, we called her the beast.” Jane warmed her coffee by adding some from the pot. “I find that I am still curious about your offer of marriage. You seemed to have imagined that I came from privilege. I don’t know why that would influence you to propose. If it were true, I would be hopelessly ill prepared for Morning Star.”
“You still are.”
“I won’t argue that point. It supports mine. I don’t understand why you did not continue corresponding with women whom you must have thought were better suited to this life.”
“You mean someone who did not hail from Fifth Avenue, New York City.”
“Yes. I understand it was not Rebecca’s photograph that persuaded you because we had not yet exchanged pictures, but you told me that you wrote back to the other respondents with the express purpose of ending the exchange. It seems to me that you cut them off rather precipitously.”
Morgan set his forearms on the table on either side of his plate. He leaned forward a fraction, never once taking his eyes from Jane. “That’s why,” he said.
She frowned. “I don’t understand.”
“You write like you talk, or maybe it’s that you talk like you write. I figured you for an educated female, and I liked the idea of it right off. What I know I mostly learned on my own, and I have no objection to learning more. It’s possible that someday you’ll hear me say ‘precipitously’ like it belongs in my mouth same as it belongs in yours.”
Jane opened her mouth to speak and all her fine words failed her. When that happened, she simply shook her head.
Morgan finished off another bite and drank more coffee. “Do you ride?”
Jane watched him set down his fork. He rubbed the ginger stubble on his jaw with his knuckles. She guessed that it had been almost forty-eight hours since he shaved. He was looking faintly disreputable, a little dangerous, and he was sitting at the table with a napkin on his lap and politely inquiring if she rode.
“A bicycle,” she said. “But I don’t think that’s what you meant.”
“No, but tell me about it. I’ve only ever seen bicycles in pictures. Are they hard to learn to ride?”
“Balance is really the only thing to master. Steering, pedaling, braking. All of that is not so difficult if one remains upright.”
“Huh.”
“It is a pleasant pursuit for women,” said Jane. “The park was a favorite place to go.”
“But you didn’t learn to ride a horse?”
“No. Rebecca is the accomplished rider. Our educations diverged in a number of ways, and that was one of them. The difference in our ages accounts for some of it. Cousin Franny’s expectations account for the rest.” Jane put her fork down and scooted back from the table. “Will you teach me to ride?”
“Have to. It’s not a choice here. Same as seeing that you’re comfortable with a gun.”
“When will we begin?”
“Not this morning. We’ll see about this afternoon.”
Nodding, Jane stood. She picked up her empty cup, plate, and utensils, and carried them to the sink. She would have returned for Morgan’s dish, but when she stepped back, he was there just as he had been the night before. She did not dare turn around. Her chest would have been flush to his.
“How do you do that?” she asked.
“Do what?” Reaching around Jane, Morgan dropped his things in the sink on top of hers.
“Move around without making a sound.”
“Why does it have to be something I do? Maybe you have old women’s ears.”
“There is nothing at all wrong with my hearing.” He was so close that Jane could feel his shrug. “I hear perfectly well.”
