“What about you?”
“Probably, blue.” He glanced at her when she laughed. “You find that color amusing?”
“Not particularly. Only that it’s generally assumed that boys like blue and girls like pink.” She shrugged.
He sighed dramatically. “I guess that makes me rather predictable, doesn’t it?”
“I wouldn’t go so far as to say that. If it were true, you wouldn’t have become an agent for the Home Office. You would have merely concentrated on your dukedom and the duties that come with the title.” She tilted her head to the side. “Whydidyou decide to work at Whitehall?”
He considered the best way to reply. “Because I thirsted for knowledge, I suppose.”
“But why let society believe that you’re an imbecile, then?”
“It just seems easier that way. No one is meddling in my affairs. It certainly makes my position at Whitehall more secure.”
“Is that really all there is to it?” she asked softly.
He fell silent for a moment. His childhood wasn’t something that he discussed with anyone. Not even Euphemia, but perhaps that was simply because she had endured similar trials. He wasn’t sure why he confided in Lyra now, other than if he wished to learn more about her it was only fair that she knew something of his life. “I suppose, in some way, I wanted to prove to my father that there was more to a nobleman’s existence than estate books.”
“That’s important too.”
“It is,” he agreed, slowly. “But it just didn’t seem that rewarding to me, especially when I witnessed my father treating people as a motivational tool. His servants were just another sign of wealth or property.” His brow furrowed. “The summer I told you about, when I assisted the local doctor, I felt…” He gave a shrug. “I guess you could say I discovered a sense of worth in helping others. When a child with a broken bone eventually healed and was back to climbing trees, or an elderly woman recovered from an illness and relieved the mind of her husband of fifty years, that was what truly mattered to me. Ledgers are only numbers, but we were dealing with humans. I suppose I signed on at Whitehall with a similar motivation, to see justice served for those who had been wronged.”
“I never thought of it that way,” Lyra said quietly. “Growing up, my father hardly left his study, unless—” She broke off abruptly. “Well, let’s just say that he wasn’t a model of perfection,” she amended with a twisted smile. “I was afraid Roarke might become cold and hard like him, and he was for a time, especially after he thought Mara was dead and he left for India. When he came back, it only got worse, but in the end, it all worked out.”
“Do I even want to know?” he teased, trying to lighten the mood as he turned to grin at her.
She shook her head. “It’s a long story. I’ll let him tell youthatone. Let’s just say love turned his life around.”
“Indeed,” Alister murmured, hypnotized by the play of golden tendrils about her face. Clearing his throat, he turned his attention back to the road. “So what did you like to do as a girl? I imagine you playing with dolls and having tea parties.”
“Sometimes,” she admitted. “But most of the time I was rummaging in the attic with Mara trying to discover forgotten treasure.”
This time, he threw back his head and laughed richly, his warm baritone causing her to smile in turn. “Why am I not surprised?”
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
They stopped only temporarily for a late lunch in the village of Harlow before continuing on and resting for the evening at The Bell Inn just north of Cambridge in Stilton. A quaint coaching inn made of oolitic limestone and slates of Colleyweston stone, it was best known for its infamous cheese, brought about by the previous innkeeper, Cooper Thornhill. Or, at least, that was one theory that Lyra had always heard bandied about. She wasn’t sure anyone really knew where the popular product had actually originated, only that it bore the name of the village.
In truth, she had always been more interested to find out if there truly was a secret tunnel that led to The Angel Inn across the street. But after a quick query to the current innkeeper, Mrs. Scarborough, who merely smiled and evaded the question, Lyra was left to wonder.
Inside, Alister led Lyra up a set of stairs to a series of rooms. Her heart was pounding, wondering about the evening to come. Thus far he’d been nothing but the perfect gentleman, but now that they were alone…
However, she was surprised when he stopped before one of the doors and produced a key, only to press it into her palm. He paused a moment. “I told the innkeeper that you were my sister. I didn’t feel it was prudent to give our true names for your safety. Rest assured I’ll be right across the hall if you need me.”
Lyra merely nodded. Of course she knew that he was perfectly correct in every aspect, but that didn’t mean she wasn’t also slightly disappointed he wouldn’t be staying with her. Then again, she had no right to be granted any consideration since she still held back telling him about the possibility that he was going to be a father. But each time she garnered the courage to speak, he would react in a manner that gave her pause. If it wasn’t his evasion in answering whether or not he still believed she was guilty of treason, then it was her own insecurities. What if she had another miscarriage? Perhaps it would just be best to let the matter go until after they were wed and let him believe that, if she carried the child to term, the baby was merely premature. Granted, it was the coward’s way out, but until she came up with another solution, she would keep her secrets.
Alister must have read the doubts in her face, but he believed her hesitation was for another reason. “Everything is going to be fine. I won’t let anything happen to you.” He reached out a hand to caress her face, then let his hand slowly drop away. “Try and get some sleep. We have another long drive tomorrow.”
He turned and disappeared into his room. Since the moment for confession had passed, Lyra gave a sigh and did the same.
* * *
The following morning dawned bright and cheery, and while it went further to melt more of the snow, it merely turned the roads into a slippery mess. More than once they were forced to move at a snail’s pace, their carriage wheels fighting the slush.
As Alister called out to soothe the horse yet again, Lyra had to grip the edge of the door to keep from sliding out of her seat. She was scared to death that at any moment they would launch completely off of the road. Thankfully, her future husband was a master at the reins and continued to keep them on a steady track, though not as quickly as they might have wished. By the time they paused to stop late that afternoon, they’d only made it as far as Grantham. Lyra was glad to be out of the carriage, even if her nerves took some time to settle so that exhaustion could set in. By the time her head hit the pillow in her room she was fast asleep.
The third morning was rather gloomy and overcast, and while Lyra did her best to keep her spirits up, the stoic expression on Alister’s face didn’t help. The shadow of a beard was evident, and his lips were pinched, as if he had barely slept at all. But when she offered to take over the reins, his reply was a clipped, “I’m fine.”
