“Few women would.”Where did he go when he left for a spell? How long would he be gone?This man would not know, but she wished he did.
“I went back there, oh, ten years ago. Don’t remember word of them. Don’t remember you at all.”
“My father left when I was thirteen. We moved north after my mother died.”
“Ah. That would explain it, then. Not more I can tell you. As I said, I didn’t know any of them much.”
She wished he could tell her much more, could regale her for hours with stories and memories. She wished he and her father had been good friends, so he might fill the hole inside her with details she could cling to. “I thank you for telling me what you do remember. It was good to hear about my grandfather, and about my father when he was young.”
He picked up his cobbler’s hammer. “Was an easy service to provide. Tell that fool Hume to come and get some boots. The ones he wears don’t fit him proper.”
“I will do that.” She took her leave and went out to the street, where she released her excitement. Finally, she had something to indicate she was not on a fool’s errand. While it was possible her grandfather had been called the baron due to his bearing, it could also have been a reference to his history, known to those alive when he was brought to the region. It wasn’t much, but it was more than she had expected this visit to give her.
The little clue distracted her until someone brushed past and jostled her to alertness. She paid better attention to her path then, but walked home with a lighter heart than she had experienced in months.
* * *
Stratton hailed Eric and galloped his horse across the park. Eric stopped and waited for him, then noticed that Langford brought up the rear.
“Odd to find you here this early,” Stratton said while his horse snorted and whinnied in the crisp autumn air. “I thought you would be sequestered at one of your meetings.”
“The day is chilled but fair, and I needed a ride to clear my head.” He turned his horse and paced along while Langford bore down on them.
Stratton fell into place on his right. “If we are interfering with deep thought, we will ride on.”
“Clearing one’s head means you put deep thought aside for a spell.”I am riding in order not to think about a Scottish woman who is trying to steal land from me.
Langford took up position on his left. The wind proved too strong for hats, so all their hair blew around their heads.
“And here I thought you had such deep thoughts plaguing you that you could not afford to put them aside,” Stratton said.
“I am spared thoughts that deep.”
“Interesting,” Langford murmured.
Eric glanced over at him, then turned his attention to Stratton. Both of them appeared ever so uninterested and casual. Studiously so.
Damned if he was going to offer up thoughts, deep or otherwise. If they waited for something, let them wait.
They all turned toward the reservoir.
“We haven’t seen you much the last few days, but Clara said you called on her, so you must not be playing the hermit,” Stratton said.
“I never play the hermit.”Hermitimplied total retreat, and also self-denial. He did not engage in either, ever, although there were times when he might not be very social.
“Well, not since that time when we were much younger,” Langford said.
Eric did not respond. He could not believe Langford had mentioned that, or even remembered. Memories crowded forward again, about how he had not been a hermit at all then, merely engaged in something no one could know about.Fire. Madness. Inexplicable loss of control . .. He closed the door forcefully on the impending reverie.
“It was good of you to call anyway,” Stratton said.
“Why was it good of me?”
“There has been some talk about her and that journal since the party, so it was good of you to show again that you hold her in high esteem.”
“She told you about my call?”
“Only that you did call.”
