“ ‘Um’ is not an answer,” she informed him tersely. “Why are you angry with me?”
He removed his reading spectacles so as to better stare at her in utter, complete confusion. “I’m not.”
“Then why are you avoiding me?”
“Avoiding you?”
She rolled her eyes. The man had all kinds of university degrees; surely he could conduct a conversation more efficiently! “Is it because of what happened in the cellar?”
He went red. “No.”
“Are we even going to discuss that?”
“No.”
Whew,thought her heart, which was only just holding on to its rhythm as it was. “Fine. But at least explain the separate compartments.”
Gabriel went stiff, his expression opaque. “You said you have a headache. I purchased you a private compartment for the sake of your comfort. The attendants will be bringing you cream of chicken soup from the dining cart, along with a rug and pillow.”
“Oh.” Elodie gulped. “Cream of chicken, you say?”
“Uh-huh.”
“That’s my favorite.”
“I know.”
“And a pillow?”
“Hm.”
She rose awkwardly, pointing with both hands to the door. “I’ll just be—I’ll—uh, see you in Hereford, shall I? Much obliged for the soup. Cheerio.”
“Elodie.”
“Yes?” She paused in the doorway but was too mortified to look at him.
“You can stay here if you would prefer.”
The offer was made in rigid tones, and yet Elodie did not think he spoke reluctantly. In fact, she wondered if his stiffness was perhaps akin to her own jitteriness, and if he felt as shy and awkward as she did after their cellar adventure.
“I’d appreciate your opinion on this map of Hereford, and where we might make a defense against the cascade, if your head isn’t too painful,” Gabriel added, gruff, cold…and yes,bashful, Elodie was sure of it. The realization was profound, making her question everything she’d supposed about his behavior these past years. Could there be a soft heart beneath that grouchy exterior?
“Tsk,”he said just then. “You’d think the railway company could spare a little effort to make these seats less torturously uncomfortable.”
Elodie pressed her lips shut and laid her forehead against the glass panel of the compartment’s door, trying to ward off laughter. Clearly, the grouchy exterior went all the way through. Thank goodness. What would she do with a softhearted man? He wouldn’t be her beloved Gabriel.
Smiling, she turned back in to the compartment. Gabriel shifted so she could sit beside him (nearest the window, he insisted, for the sake of her headache), and they discussed the geographical surrounds of Hereford (quietly, ditto). When luncheon was served, they set aside the map to eat, and the conversation turned instead to where one found the best soup in Oxford’s winter…how snow made the city appear “wondrous” (Elodie) and “white” (Gabriel)…and what lectures they most enjoyed giving in the Hilary term. Upon both of them answering “magical cartography,” Gabriel shared with her the gist of his latest studies on the topic.
But he stopped suddenly, in the middle of describing recent developments in thaumaturgic theodolites, and his expression hunched in on itself with troubled thought. Then he began again, more slowly. “Indeed, the lens is an enchanted mirror of silver grace, unveiling a world of magic.”
Elodie gave a confused laugh. “What?”
Gabriel shrugged uncomfortably. “I am not so hidebound that I can’t take a lesson from a young man, such as thatMumbers fellow. I know you appreciate language that is more…lyrical.”
Elodie stared at him, incredulous. “No. I don’t want poetry from you, Gabriel.”
His eyes shuttered with darkness. “You don’t?”
