***
Elise returned to the wreckage to wait, hoping Kit didn’t take long to come to his senses.
His behavior had been alarming, although he’d not lashed out at her or blamed her. That was what most men did when they were angry.
To be candid, Elise found men a mystery. She’d grown up in a household of women. Her father had made an appearance from time to time, but he hadn’t been necessary to the smooth workings of Wiltham. He’d breezed in with good humor and gifts and then, after a few days or even as much as a week, he’d be gone. He wouldn’t even mention he was leaving. Gram had said it was because his feet were itchy. Some men couldn’t stay in one place long. Gram had always assured Elise and her sisters that their father loved and valued them—and they had believed her.
But it would have been nice if he’d spent more time with them.
It would have been nice to know him better.
A wave of homesickness swept over her, just as it had the night before. She shoved it aside. She had to be strong. But the burn of tears was becoming too familiar to her.
She tried to distract herself by giving Tamsyn a good scratch. It was possible that, back in London, Gwendolyn may have discovered the note she had left in the wooden money box. Then again, she might not... and Elise realized the hard part was not knowing.
“I’m too far into it now,” she told the dog. “Whatever happens, they can’t change it.”
Tamsyn answered with a look of adoration.
At that moment, Kit came striding out of the forest. He held an uprooted sapling in his hands.
Elise stood. Tamsyn jumped down from her perch and trotted over to greet him. “What are you going to do with a tree?”
“I had to prove to myself I could do it.”
Men were so strange.
Kit seemed stranger than most since the black eye she’d given him made him appear a touch sinister.
“And?” she prodded.
“Well, now that I have a witness, I shall replant it and we’ll be on our way. However, one thing.” He walked up to her, set his sapling aside, took off his gloves, and pulled a folded length ofmaterial from the deep pockets of his greatcoat. He offered it to her.
“What is this?”
“Binding. For your feet,” he prompted when she looked blankly at him. “You need to wrap them. I noticed you were limping slightly. I imagine you have blisters. They will grow worse if you don’t take care.”
“Where did you find the material, or is there a peddler’s cart of goods in those pockets of yours?”
He grinned at her. “I like when your accent has the best of you, Irish.”
Elise frowned. “I speak English better than you.”
He ignored the comment. “Wrap your feet while I plant this tree, and we shall be on our way. I feel a bit sorry for this little sapling being the brunt of my temper and all.”
“Tamsyn and I were the brunt of your temper as well,” she reminded him.
He gave a start as if to argue, and then he agreed with a nod. “I was churlish. Wrap your feet. I’m a better man when my belly is full, and I am determined to find food soon.”
Elise understood how cranky hunger could make one. A few of her doubts about Kit dissolved. She turned the strip of material over. “Where did you find this?” she asked.
“It’s the hem of my shirt.”
Elise was startled. Was it proper that she should share his personal clothing with him? Shecould even feel heat rise to her cheeks. “I—I... This is rather personal, isn’t it?”
“It is material. What is personal about material?”
“It came off yourperson.”
