Ned looked up at Gemma.
“Yes?” she prodded, not wanting to leave him. Not yet.
“I was wrong when I said fighting Winderton had made me feel more alive than I had for a long time. It was nothing compared to kissing you.”
On those words, he said, “On with you now. Home, Hippocrates.” The horse began moving.
Gemma turned in the saddle, watching Ned until the shelter trees hid him from her view, wishing she had his words written on paper, even though she knew she’d never forget them.
As she let Hippocrates take her toward Maidenshop, Gemma lifted a hand to her lips, tracing the line of her lower lip with her finger. They’d been changed. They seemed softer now... and not because of the kiss, but because he’d let her know she mattered to him.
And he could never be hers.
Clarissa would have Ned.
Meanwhile, Gemma would have The Garland, her herbs, her vision of a shop, and a tea garden. She would have her dreams. She prayed it was enough.
Hippocrates picked up his pace at the outskirts of the village. However, when she pulled on the reins in front of The Garland, he was obedient enough. After she slid off, he trotted smartly on his way.
It was almost noon. The streets were busierthan they had been earlier when she’d thrown the eggs. In her yard she saw a cluster of three hens scratching at the dirt she and Fitz had overturned for planting. They were probably looking for worms.
Then she thought of the mess waiting for her inside. Gemma sighed and opened the door to be greeted by the sight of Mrs. Warbler, Mrs. Burnham, Mrs. Summerall, and the dowager. They sat at the only clean table in the room, their faces pinched with distaste.
“Hello, Mrs. Estep,” Mrs. Warbler said in the coldest tone. “We have been waiting for you.”
“Yes,” the dowager echoed. “We wish to talk to you about Mr. Thurlowe.”
Chapter Fifteen
Gemma closed the door, uncertain. She faced them. “What of Mr. Thurlowe?”
They couldn’t know that she’d been with him. The pond had been well sheltered. No one had happened by. Not that she’d noticed. Then again, her mind had been focused on him.
Or was there evidence of his kiss upon her face? A mark? A different look about her?That, she could believe.
“You created quite a scene this morning,” Mrs. Burnham said.
“I did and for that I apologize. I was upset.”
“Why were you carrying on that way?” Mrs. Summerall asked. “I hear your actions were most unseemly.”
“I woke to find The Garland filled with chickens. It was a prank on the behalf of the Logical Men’s Society. LogicalChild’sSociety is more like it.” Gemma’s temper flared again. “You can seethe damage that has been done. I will spend the rest of the day scrubbing.”
“Oh, dear,” the dowager said. “We wondered when we came in here why you had allowed chickens inside.”
“I didn’t allow it. I’m also tired of them thinking they can walk onto my property whenever they feel like it.”
“You should lock the door,” Mrs. Warbler replied.
“Do you lock your door?”
Her neighbor blinked at her. Of course not. No one locked their doors in Maidenshop. Gemma continued, “I was gathering the eggs when I saw Mr. Thurlowe and I regret to say I took out my temper on him, because he was not responsible. In fact, he went to battle for me.”
A look was exchanged among the ladies. “He did?” Mrs. Warbler said, her tone carefully noncommittal.
“Yes, that is why he let me ride his horse home.” Gemma was feeling her way here. She suddenly understood how it must have looked for Mr. Thurlowe to just lift her up onto the saddle in front of him. She’d literally been riding in his lap. “He took me to confront the duke and—” She paused, realizing what she’d said in front of the dowager but gamely went on, “The other culprits.” She wasn’t going to tell them that the duke and Mr. Thurlowe had exchanged physical blows. Who knew how that information would be received? “They had stern words,” she finished.
Silence met her story.
