“You don’t,” Henry said, though he hadn’t meant to say it out loud.
She smiled and started to remove the pins from her hair. “I’m sorry, but I cannot abide this dripping about my face a minute longer.” There must have been hundreds of pins in her hair, and she used both hands to get each one out, which left her reticule dangling from the crook of her arm. Henry wondered if he should offer to hold it for her but decided against it, choosing instead to avert his gaze, and feeling as though he had wandered into the lady’s intimate space.
“That’s better,” she said, and he looked to see her squeezing the moisture from her locks—her short locks. Henry could not help but stare at the way her dark hair hovered awkwardly above her shoulders in a rude cut. All the women he had ever known, even servant girls, wore their hair long. This was different, and unique, and didn’t detract from her beauty in any way.
In fact, he realized, it only made her more alluring.
Unaware of his perusal, she continued to fuss with her hair, deftly twisting the now-drained locks behind her head and started reinserting the hairpins, fishing them from her pocket where she’d stored them, and working to re-secure her hair.
“That feels better,” she said when she’d finished. Even without the aid of a mirror, she had done an excellent job securing her hair so that its choppy length was no longer detectable.
“Now, if you can just escort me to the nearest tree, you can be on your way.”
“A tree?” He said, perplexed.
“For shelter.”
“Mightn’t I escort you home? It won’t be any trouble.”
“But you were walking in the opposite direction,” she said. “I don’t want to make you walk back to Canterbury for no reason. I’m sure the storm will end soon.”
“I’m farther from my lodgings than I thought, so it’s best if I return to Canterbury and get the train or hail a cab to take me home.”
Henry was lying. He’d been on his way to surprise Ottilie at the college, having asked directions in the village. But that plan didn’t seem as appealing anymore; instead walking back to Canterbury sounded excellent. Hell, he’d walk toLondonif he could do so huddled under an umbrella with this delightful young woman.
“I suppose you may accompany me as long as the rain lasts,” she said hesitantly.
“That’s very kind of you,” Henry said, and he meant it.
She gave him a shrug. “Sorry, I don’t mean to sound ungrateful. It’s very chivalrous of you to share your umbrella with me.”
“I think the chivalrous thing to do would be to let the lady have the umbrella all to herself, but I’m afraid I am not quite that knightly.”
“I wouldn’t hear of it,” she said. “That is taking chivalry a step too far, in my opinion.” She laughed then, a delightful, sweet laugh. “But I’m afraid I must insist on knowing your name if you are to escort me home,” she said.
“Henry Hudsyn,” he said, and then after a slight pause added, “Mr.Henry Hudsyn,” deciding that for now, he just wanted to forget his title and become just a plainMister.
“Mrs. Crawford,” she said.
“Mrs. Crawford?” The words escaped Henry’s throat like a cry of disappointment.
“You sound surprised,” she said.
He was—surprisedanddisappointed. “Not at all,” he said. “I’m pleased to meet you, Mrs. Crawford. I hope Mr. Crawford will not object to a stranger escorting you home.”
“He would not,’ she said, and Henry could not help but notice the bemused look on her face. “I’m a widow.”How deplorable of me to feel such relief at hearing these words.“I’m sorry to hear that.” He creased his brow in a genuine effort to feel grieved.
“You’re wondering how such a young woman ended up a widow.”
“Not at all—I mean, it’s none of my business.”
“I was married young, at eighteen, and six months later, my husband drowned,” she said as if reciting a practiced speech. “That was two years ago, and I don’t like to dwell too much on sad memories, so that is all I am going to say on the subject.”
“Of course. You needn’t have said anything at all.” Henry dropped his gaze, somewhat uncomfortable talking about this woman’s husband, though he couldn’t think why. “I’m afraid it looks as though the newspaper is now truly unsalvageable.”
“Oh, no!” Mrs. Crawford sounded genuinely irritated as she looked at the soaked newspaper, now integrated into the mud. “I did so want to read that interesting story about the viscount and his runaway bride.”
“I could always tell you the details of the article while we make our way to Canterbury.”
