“No, Ned.No.” Before he realized it, she stepped back and shut the door.
He stood there both stunned and angry. He wanted to break things. He wanted to rip down the door. He wanted to leap into the past and call back his promise to Clarissa because he’d been a fool to not imagine that Gemma would come into his life.
Instead, he leaned his palms against the door. He could sense her there. Waiting.
He whispered, “Gemma, I am not a man who pays attention to feelings. They make you vulnerable and then people can hurt and even destroy you . . . except I don’t feel that way about you. Please, help me. Since the moment we laid eyes on each other that first morning, you have rarely been far from my thoughts. It defies logic. I don’t understand what is happening or why, except I’ve never needed anyone in my life. I’ve refused toneed them . . . until you. You challenge me, you argue with me, you infuriate me, and I love you. We can’t leave it here.”
Her answer was silence.
Damnable silence. And then, slowly, he accepted that she was right.
The realization made him push back from the door.
Maybe tomorrow she’d come to him—and then he would have to be the one strong enough for the both of them to say no.
That didn’t make this moment any easier.
He lightly rested his palm against the weathered wood of the door. She was still there. He believed he could feel her heartbeat in the air between them.
He loved... and that alone for a boy who had grown up abandoned was a miracle.
Ned left. He didn’t bother following the water. Instead, he walked for the road. As he reached it, he glanced over at Mrs. Warbler’s house. There was no light in the window, or lurking figure. That didn’t mean she wasn’t watching. She was known to be a clever spy.
However, at this point, he didn’t care. He made his way home.
Chapter Sixteen
Life had a way of continuing whether a person wanted it to or not. Ned had learned this lesson through many disappointments... but none had left him as unsure about himself as parting with Gemma.
And, yes, he understood he barely knew her. Yet, from the beginning he’d been drawn to her. He’d blamed it on the vibrant color of her hair, the determined set of her chin, her claim to being a healer. Now he understood that what had truly caught his attention was her fearlessness. She hadn’t hesitated in challenging him—something Clarissa Taylor could never do, and not through any fault of her own. He was her only chance to cling to the only life she’d known. She lacked Gemma’s boldness.
Now, instead of riding by The Garland, as had been his custom, he made a point of taking a different route the next morning and every day after. He didn’t want to see Gemma. He knew whentheir paths did cross, they would be cordial and undeniably distant. He wasn’t eager forthatmoment to come.
A few days after the kiss he ran into Agnes Woodman driving her dog cart down the road.
Mrs. Woodman suffered headaches and complained about them constantly. Ned had advised that quiet and sitting in a dark room with a warm compress against her brow would give her some relief. She’d informed him briskly that when a woman had nine children, sitting was not an option. He could not argue.
Actually, what he suspected was that she used her “headaches” to keep her husband away from her, especially at night. Daniel Woodman had bent Ned’s ear more than once complaining about how her headaches stopped him from enjoying his marital sport. “She used to be as ready as I was,” he’d complained. “Now she goes to bed early and refuses to even look at me.”
The truth was, little could be done for headaches. Many people had them; often those people were women. It was an unsatisfactory answer to both husband and wife. Ned had given her powders. She swore none of them worked.
However, today Mrs. Woodman greeted him gaily. “Good morning to you, Mr. Thurlowe.”
He tipped his hat. “Good morning to you. I see you are looking well.”
She pulled over. “Aye, that I am.” She adjusted her shawl around her shoulders. “I have not had a headache in over a week.”
“Excellent. You are taking my advice?”
“No, I went to see Gemma,” the woman proudly informed him. “She gave me a powder she concocted and I haven’t had an incident since. And I’ll tell you, my husband is happy with the change.”
He tamped down the sting to his professional pride. Kate’s reminder went through his mind that sometimes women would not confide intimate details to a male, even a professional like himself. Had he missed something? A clue that could have unlocked the secret to her pain? One that Gemma, being female, had understood?
“What was in the powder?” he asked.
“I don’t know but it works like a miracle far better than the ones you gave me. In fact, if it keeps working, there will be a tenth baby in the Woodman household.” She laughed as she bragged. He’d never seen her so carefree.
“That is good news.” And then he had to ask, “How does the powder present itself? What does it taste like?” What did Gemma know that he didn’t?
