Tamsyn was happy to see him. There were other dogs, but Kit noted she was a bit standoffish. Perhaps she considered herself above the hounds. She had found a few bones and as she trotted after him to the stables, she held two in her mouth.
Clive was as amiable as his wife. The last stage had left sometime earlier, so all that was left of chores was feeding the horses for the night. It was an easy enough task for Kit. He helped Clive shovel some manure and sweep and, once done, left Tamsyn gnawing on her bone collection.
He stopped at the back of the inn to wash in along horse trough. Blocks of lye soap were available for the task.
Kit removed his well-worn gloves and grabbed the soap. He missed the sandalwood soap he’d used for shaving and bathing at Smythson. Funny, but of the life he left, it was the small conveniences he mourned. He’d always believed cleanliness was a good thing. Elise’s comment the day before had struck hard. However, it was hard to bathe when one didn’t have servants boiling the water and carrying it to and fro.
And perhaps he had needed Elise’s bluntness. He had been growing complacent and forgetting who he was. He had set out on this journey with some vague idea it would make him a better man. He’d need a respite, a different way of looking at the world—
A deep, innate honesty, cut him off.
Whomwas he fooling? Embarrassment had driven him out of London. He’d reached a point when he couldn’t meet his mother’s eye, let alone anyone else’s. He’d run.
Just like Elise... only she was going to Ireland. He’d never runtowardanything.
Perhaps the time had come that he should. Because he was discovering there was no running from himself.
Kit shook the water from his hands. He walked into the inn through a back door, entered the taproom, and stopped, struck by the sight before him.
The room had grown more crowded. Menand women from nearby had gathered for the evening. Sarver had been right when he’d promised the place would be busy. Kit had noticed patrons arriving while he was out helping with the horses.
But in the middle of this busy room, Elise shone like a morning star, and she was all he could see.
Yes, she was a physically attractive woman. Many eyes, especially male ones, drifted toward her and lingered.
However, what caught Kit was how composedly she sat, how there was an inner serenity about her. Apresence.
Her body shifted. She straightened and craned her neck to search the room. She was looking for someone—
Deep blue eyes lit up when she spied him. She smiled and, for a beat, it was as if the world disappeared. Her smile told him she was glad he had returned.Him, the prodigal.
Many women had smiled at him. Most as an invitation.
Elise smiled because she trusted him.
And Kit’s heart, which he had declared hard as stone, softened, and began to beat again.
Chapter Twelve
There’s no use boiling your cabbage twice.
Irish proverb
Elise had been anxiously waiting for Kit’s return.
The taproom had been growing busier. She’d felt the curious looks from the women and caught the way the men stared, some covertly, a few openly. In London, it had been assumed she enjoyed being the center of attention. She did not. She was a country lass who had grown up knowing all the people around her. No one mentioned her looks in Wicklow. However, after her experience with Tommy, the attention made her uneasy. She shouldn’t be so skittish, but she was.
And then she sensed Kit’s presence. Sheknewhe was close.
The men in the room averted their gazes from her. It was as if they, too, understood she wasn’t for the taking.
She looked to the front door. Kit was not there.She glanced at the crowded bar around the tap. He was not among them. She also didn’t believe he would go for the ale first before letting her know he’d returned. That was not the man he was.
Then, a tingling at the back of her neck told her exactly where he was. She turned in her seat.
Kit stood by the back door. His large frame seemed to fill the space, making him seem taller and broader than he was. His neckcloth was looped around as if he couldn’t be bothered to knot it. He held his wide-brimmed hat in his hand, and his hair was wet as if he’d been washing. He held his oilcloth coat rolled up under one arm.
Their eyes met. She smiled, both relieved and pleased to see him. She motioned him toward her.
