“I didn’t really see a need for it otherwise.” She shrugged. “Besides, I’ve never much cared for the taste. It’s much too bitter for my liking. I prefer a cup of tea.”
She thought she heard him mutter something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like, “Unbelievable,” but she couldn’t say that for sure.
He leaned back in his chair and clasped his hands over his midsection. Since her gaze was drawn there, she couldn’t help but notice he was rather trim. She quickly averted her eyes.
“Tell me about yourself.”
Dove frowned. “I’ve told you everything you need to know. Besides, I’m sure my past hasn’t been nearly as eventful as yours.” She sat up straighter. “Why don’t you tell me about London.”
“London.” He snorted and ran his forefinger around the edge of his glass. She found it oddly hypnotizing. “It’s a smelly, dirty town, and when it rains you don’t know if you’re stepping in mud or refuse.”
“My, you paint such a… poignant picture,” she murmured. “But what about the British History Museum, and the Tower, and… ” She trailed off, afraid that her enthusiasm over visiting the city would become overly apparent.
He tilted his head to the side. “I suppose there is a lot to see if one is a tourist, but for someone who has walked the streets countless times, I guess it just doesn’t hold that much appeal for me.” He paused. “Have you never been?”
“I haven’t left Meriden,” she found herself admitting. “But I always thought it would be nice to see the city that has been around since the time of the Romans, the one place that makes you appreciate the trials our country has endured over the years.”
“Hmm. I suppose I never thought of it that way.”
Dove immediately felt as if she’d overstepped, as his expression seemed rather grim. “I’m sorry if I—”
He held up a hand. “No, please. No apologies are necessary. I have long ignored the things around me that are most important.” He looked at her intently. “Thank you for finally opening my eyes up to my surroundings. Perhaps I will learn to appreciate the gifts I’ve been granted a bit more.”
Miss Meriwether cast her eyes downward yet again, and Cain yearned for her to keep her focus fixated on him. When it came to being a woman who was decidedly younger than him, by at least a decade, she had already given him a new awareness regarding the selfish way he’d been living. While the modest atmosphere around him might have had something to do with it, he knew it was this comely, innocent girl who had managed to sneak past the barrier around his tough exterior to warm his heart. Oddly enough, she had no idea the power she was wielding over him.
But he did.
“Here ye are!” He glanced up to see Mrs. Decker was placing a steaming, delicious meal in front of him. The scents wafting up from the dish tempted him more than the anything that the famed French chef, Marie-Antoine Carême, might have cooked up during his many trips to Paris.
He dug into the fare with gusto, while Miss Meriwether ate a bit more sedately. Little was said until he set down his fork and knife, the plate perfectly clean. He smiled broadly and said, “I don’t know if it was because I was hungrier than I’d imagined, but I haven’t had anything that wonderful in some time. I may just have to steal your Mrs. Decker away to come cook in my kitchens.”
He winked at his companion and was pleased when a slight blush covered her delicate cheeks, but she merely wiped her mouth with her napkin and said, “I’m sure she will be overjoyed by your compliment.”
The door to the inn opened, and Miss Meriwether’s eyes instantly lit up. “Papa!” She got to her feet and rushed over to the man of middle years who had entered.
He removed his hat as she embraced him fondly, but Cain noted some weariness around his eyes. No doubt his recent travels had taken their toll, but his lips curved upward in a happy smile when he looked at his daughter.
“There’s someone I’d like you to meet. He’s been waiting all afternoon to speak with you,” she added.
Miss Meriwether led him over to Cain. He rose to his feet respectfully and offered the older man a bow, regardless of his rank. “Papa, this is Viscount Markel. My lord, this is my father, Mr. Edmund Meriwether, the village vicar.”
“A viscount?” The vicar’s bushy gray brows rose toward his receding hairline. Dressed in plain, brown clothes, he looked about as unassuming as Cain imagined Jesus might have been in his day, walking the streets of Galilee. “What an honor to have such a distinguished gentleman in our midst.” He glanced toward his daughter. “I hope that Dove has been kind to you.”
Cain’s lips twitched. “She has.”
Again, that charming blush stole over her cheeks.
“I daresay I’ve been curious as to how Miss Meriwether got her name.”
Her father chuckled. “She never has been particularly fond of it, but her dear, departed mother and I couldn’t have chosen anything more suited to her gentle nature and devout faith toward the Lord.”
“I see.” Cain couldn’t ascertain if Miss Meriwether approved of this depiction, as her face was wiped clear of any sort of expression. As a gesture of good will, he decided to offer his own Christian name. “I fear I was gifted with the name of Cain, and I daresay I have lived up to the reputation.” He exhaled heavily. “It is the reason I sought you out today, Mr. Meriwether. After attending the funeral of a fellow comrade, I realized that certain… aspects of my life need to alter. I am prepared to return to London and do my duty and find a wife and leave my rapacious past behind, but I need your help to do that.”
The vicar inclined his head. “Of course. I am always eager to direct a child of God back into the arms of the flock. Shall we retire to—?” He suddenly paused and blinked rapidly, putting a hand to his forehead.
“Papa?” Miss Meriwether’s voice sounded concerned. “Are you well?”
“I—” It was all her father managed before he collapsed.
