Caroline refreshed her courteous smile and gestured at the settee, as her parents decamped to their respective sanctums. “How do you like your tea, Mr. Duffy?”
He accepted her invitation but waited until she’d perched on one end before taking a seat at the other. “Cream and sugar, if you please. If you can spare it, I mean. Commodities are still scarce. I wouldn’t want to burden your family unnecessarily. Not that it would—I didn’t mean to intimate poverty! Oh, dear. I sincerely hope I haven’t given offense.”
“Not at all,” Caroline said, trying not to stare at his bright red ears. “Many families are suffering,” she went on as she unfolded her napkin and spread it across her lap. “My father deals mostly in leather goods, so we fared better than most.”
She prepared their tea then handed him a small plate and gestured for him to choose from the food on offer. When he didn’t, she lifted the tiered stand and held it out to him. “Help yourself. I insist.”
He took two cheddar and roast beef sandwiches, though his gaze caressed the rest as if he desired to polish off every last crumb.
Caroline held the stand steady. “Are you sure you won’t take more? My mother’s molasses cakes are a town favorite. Her cucumber sandwiches are, as well.”
“You’ve convinced me.” He added one of each to his plate.
Caroline chose a single cucumber sandwich for herself but let it sit in favor of her tea.
Walsh set down his plate then tested the temperature of his tea and took a sip, his gaze darting around behind his spectacles, as if he were searching for something to say. “Would it be too forward of me to comment on your dress—how flattering that deep shade of green is to your complexion?”
“No. And thank you.” Only sunlight could reveal her auburn highlights. Indoors, her hair appeared plain coffee-brown. Theonly benefit of being so profoundly brunette was that it provided the necessary balance for dark colors and deep jewel tones.
Caroline made a quick perusal of her visitor’s attire but could find nothing worthy of a pointed compliment. Remarking that his clothes were clean, pressed, and in good repair would sound silly at best, and—at worst—like a patronizing snub.
The exposed parts of his person were another matter. It was impossible not to notice Mr. Duffy’s hands in such close quarters with his gloves removed. Though they were masculine and proportionate, they were pale and free of calluses.
Caroline lifted her cup to her lips and paused. “Did you serve in the war?”
“I did not,” he replied with no indication of embarrassment. “I was exempt, because I provided the sole support of my widowed mother.”
“Oh. Will she be coming to live with you in Greenvale?”
He shook his head. “She passed away in June. It’s what provoked my relocation.”
Caroline’s cup and saucer sagged under the weight of his revelation. “My condolences, Mr. Duffy. I mean that sincerely.”
“Thank you.” His lips curved into a sad, reflective smile. “My mother was a paragon—to me, at least. She will be missed.” He set his tea on the table and picked up his food.
Caroline nibbled her sandwich to fill the silence while she searched for a topic of conversation worthy to follow talk of death. “How are things going at the steel mill?”
Walsh’s expression immediately brightened. “Very well. And busy, thanks to the reconstruction.”
“You sound as if you enjoy your job.”
“I do. Most men are repelled by tedious, indoor work, but I find the neat rows in the ledgers calming. The steady rhythm of numbers...making order out of chaos...” A rosy hue climbed his cheeks. “I suppose you find that odd.”
A little. “Not at all. More tea?”
Walsh accepted her offer to freshen his cup and continued the genteel consumption of his victuals, then suddenly halted and frowned at her empty plate. He carefully returned his to the table, one beef sandwich still untouched.
“If it’s not to your liking, I can make something else.”
“Oh, no. The food is delicious.”
The reason for his abrupt shift was obvious. He had stopped eating because she had. The polite response would be to take a second helping for the sake of her guest, but her heart wasn’t in this, and her stomach had followed suit.
“Would you like to take a stroll in the garden?” Caroline asked as a courtesy, knowing her tone conveyed the same indifference as her smile. The space could be seen from both her father’s desk and the parlor, but it would forever remind her of Jackson.
“I’d like that very much,” Walsh replied, rising to his feet. He followed her out, observing every courtesy, and fell in step beside her, his hands clasped behind his back.
“I apologize for the state of the grounds,” Caroline said as they made their way along the stone path. “I’ve neglected my plants as of late.” She’d lacked even the motivation to sow her beloved winter pansies. All the garden had to offer was shriveled vines and fading roses. If not for the brilliant fall foliage framing the property, the view would be positively dismal.
