Katherine’s heart stuttered, and her pulse raced. Such a question. And such an answer to give. In a trice, her mind sorted through all the possibilities, both in what she might say and the subsequent consequences. Unfortunately, few of them ended in anything resembling happiness for her and Mr. Archer.
“I do not know what you mean,” she replied.
Benjamin frowned. “I do not think my question is terribly confusing. I’ve seen you two together, and I wish to know if you view him as more than my friend.”
Her lips pinched together. “Yourfriend? Is it so difficult to imagine that he and I are friends as well?”
“I cannot pretend I don’t find your friendship unusual, especially as you are far happier alone than with others,” said Benjamin, scratching at the back of his head.
Her brother was not a cruel person. Not purposefully, at any rate. Though Katherine couldn’t claim a close relationship with him, she knew enough of Benjamin Leigh to know that. Yet his words cut her to the core, not merely due to his confusion about her friendship with Mr. Archer, but because he stated those feelings in such a bald manner—as though it wouldn’t hurt her in the slightest.
Did he think she had no heart? That her insides didn’t twist at the thought that her own brother couldn’t comprehend why his friend might enjoy her company? Or that he thought her some hermit who counted Mr. Archer a friend, despite her dislike of humanity?
“The way you two spoke at the picnic today made me wonder if there was something more. Do you care for him?” Benjamin waved his hands about as though searching for the answer. “Do you feel something more than friendship? Something romantic in nature.”
The previous pain faded from thought. Katherine’s heart beat against her ribs, and her hands quivered enough that she hid them behind her.
Could she not simply tell him the truth? No doubt, he would tell Mr. Archer. That would land her in the exact predicament she was avoiding by not telling him herself. No more friendship. No more conversations. No more silent jests. The thought was inconceivable.
But then another thought struck, and her heart fluttered. What if Benjamin was asking because Mr. Archer, himself, wished to know?
It was a silly thought, easily batted aside, for though people were often timid in love, Katherine couldn’t imagine Mr. Archer sending another to ascertain the truth when he was quite capable of asking himself.
So, Benjamin was asking for his own curiosity. And if word were to get back to Mr. Archer, then he’d know the truth without Katherine having to declare it herself. Surely it was less embarrassing if Mr. Archer were to discover her feelings from a third party. Wasn’t it?
Katherine’s heart swiveled back and forth, longing to be done with this charade, yet knowing how likely it was that the ending would not be the one she wished. Could she risk it? Could she trust Benjamin with this delicate truth?
That question silenced all others, leaving Katherine firm in her resolve. Drawing in a deep breath, she forced herself to calm. She could do this. It may not be the right choice, but it was the only one she could make at this juncture.
“He is a friend, Benjamin. That is all.”
Chapter 17
Despite earning their bread from the mill, the rest of the Archer family never cared for the sounds of the machinery and had chosen to reside in Stratsfield House rather than any of the townhouses situated nearer to Rawlston Mill. To David’s thinking, that thrumming and clanging was the sound of their financial stability. Quiet was far more bothersome.
Vibrations echoed throughout the mill office, soothing David’s thoughts as he stared at the letter. Mr. Cox was a sensible fellow and was well worth trusting, but it was never wise to blindly surrender all control of the family’s investments to the man of business. That had been one of the first lessons David had learned when he’d begun poking his nose into Father’s responsibilities and discovered just how much of a muck their previous one had made of things; no oversight led to complacency, and the world was changing too quickly for such things.
The door to the office opened, and a gust of wind from the courtyard swept through the room, disturbing papers throughout the long space. The mill manager stood from his desk at the far side and greeted the intruder, though David did not look up from Mr. Cox’s missive.
“You are making yourself quite at home in your father’s seat,” said Mr. Culpepper, sweeping past Mr. Fenn to stand before David’s desk.
“As he is not currently at home, someone must step in,” said David.
Mr. Fenn stood behind the intruder, his hands tucked behind him as he glanced between his employer and Mr. Culpepper. With a nod of his head, David dismissed the mill manager, and Mr. Fenn bowed in reply and moved back to his desk.
“When is he expected to return?” asked Mr. Culpepper.
David hid a sigh and met that question with a smile. “How might I assist you?”
But Mr. Culpepper waved the offer away. “I wish to speak with the master—not some young pup.”
From his desk on the far side of the room, Mr. Fenn glanced up before turning back to his ledgers with a shake of the head.
“As my father is often occupied with urgent business outside of Greater Edgerton, I suggest you write a letter,” said David. “I will ensure it is reviewed and a reply will be sent posthaste.”
Mr. Culpepper stiffened, his brow dipping low. “That is a shabby way to conduct business.”
“Nevertheless, it is how we do things here at Rawlston Mill,” replied David. “You are free to express your displeasure in the letter.”
