“What was her answer?”
“The idiots who took everything thought a bunch of musty books had no value.” Her smile when she finished that statement was breathtaking.
“And who were these illiterate blunderheads?”
Her smiled died. “They are no longer important.”
By the set of her lips, she wasn’t going to tell him. At least not then.
“Where is the rest of your family? Your parents? You said they left the country?”
Nodding, she strolled over to the closest shelf and ran a hand across the lined-up spines, straightening one that was less than half an inch out of order.
“I am an only child. Two others died before the age of five.” Then a book caught her fancy. She drew out the thin volume, opened it, and smiled. “My parents are in Spain. Two years ago, they fled this disaster for which they blame me.”
With that, she snapped the book closed and replaced it.
“Two years ago, you said you were widowed. Is that true?”
“It is.” She immediately changed the topic. “We have that ale you requested, as well as some cold chicken and bread. Are you hungry?”
“Thank you, I am.”
The dining room, which he’d already noticed, was ... rustic but functional. After taking him in, she went to fetch the food herself.
“I shall return shortly.”
Adam watched her leave and speculated upon the state of Stonely Grange and the “idiots” who had taken everything. When she returned with a tray, he rushed forward to take it from her.
“You are in an extraordinary circumstance, are you not?”
Alice sat at the table, despite not having brought herself any food, and gestured for him to eat.
“I suppose this life is nothing I could have imagined,” she agreed. “But I am fortunate to have a roof over my head, nonetheless.”
“Will you tell me your story?”
When she briefly closed her eyes as if shutting him out, he persisted, “Aren’t we close enough friends for you to confide in me? I promise you I am not the least judgmental, and I hold you in the highest esteem.”
He waited. Her eyelids fluttered open, and she examined her fingernails, tapped them on the table, looked around the room, and even sighed.
“And I am persistent,” he added, for he was not going to ride away and leave the mystery of Lady Alice Malcolm Jeffrey in his wake.
“You are,” she agreed, looking at him again. “I am still astonished to see you.”
He had hoped by expressing his admiration, her gaze might appear more joyful, but that was not the case.
“I never expected you to be sitting here,” she admitted softly. Then she shook her head. “A few years ago, I married Lord Richard Fairclough. I thought he was a decent, kind man. He was neither. I left my home here and traveled to London with him, from a dream to a nightmare, as it were. He was a drunkard, always veryarf’arf’an’arfno matter the time of day. He was also a hopeless gambler who was either easily bilked or extraordinarily unlucky. And a profligate spend-all.”
“But did he have any bad traits?” Adam asked, hoping the jest would make her smile. After all, the man was dead. However, Alice barely lifted one side of her luscious mouth in a mostly wry expression.
“Luckily, we never had children, and even more fortunately, he died. And that is my story. Not a particularly interesting one.”
“I beg to differ.” Adam had hung on her every word, looking into the depths of her gray-green eyes. He wanted to remove the sadness he saw there but didn’t know how to go about it.
Moreover, he knew the story had more to it, with facets she hadn’t yet revealed.
“Who ravaged your family home?”
