“It is very early. You should be in bed.” His cheeks were ruddy, but the rest of him was entirely pale. He grabbed a rag and wiped his hands, then pushed the cow back into her stall. “You should not be wandering about on your own.”
I was still in a state of shock, but I managed, “I saw you from the balcony, and I wondered what you were doing, and I ...Whydo you have a cow? In the middle of Brighton.”
Graham shook the cat off his boot. “Get off, Constantine. Go on.”
My eyes trailed his clothes—clothes that he clearly reserved forworkingin.
“We have a lot to see this afternoon. A lot of walking. You should return to your room and—”
“I find I am wide awake.”
We stared at each other. Graham, filthy. Me, without so much as having splashed water upon my face.
“We brought them with us,” he muttered. His brows drew together as he looked anywhere but my face. “When we moved here from the country. We couldn’t stand to sell the cow, after everything. And Tabs loves this stupid cat.” He shook the creature off his boot again, and I found myself reaching out to—what?—help him? Help the cat? Who was this man? This version of Graham was so hesitant and serious and unsettled. In London, he walked with a sure gait, a steady pace, an intimidating confidence. This man could hardly look me in the eye. He closed the cow’s gate and brushed past me, out the door.
I didn’t know what to say, but I could not stay there, so Ifollowed him and said the thing running circles in my head: “You are milking a cow. By the sea.”
“It’s not that unusual, Anna. If we didn’t have her to milk, we’d be buying it. And we already had her, so ...”
“But—” Oh, it would be rude to ask him outright again. Ruder than I already had been by following him. There was something he wasn’t saying. Something he didn’t want to say, judging by how ready he was to abandon me. He gathered the wooden poles and trudged to the fence line. Despite the gate a few paces down, he hopped over the fence, then hoisted the wooden poles over his shoulder and turned toward the pasture.
“Graham,”I called as I strode to the gate, my shaking fingers working to unlatch it.
I nearly skipped to match his quick pace, but he would not offer more than a grunt until we finally reached the other side of the enclosure, and he dropped the wooden poles. The fence encompassed a small plot of grassy land, a pasture for the cow. Though I’d tied my hair back, it was a mess of curls along my shoulders. I wiped my brow with my sleeve, very unladylike, then placed my hands on my hips. I was not finished with this conversation, but I’d have to tread carefully to get the answers I wanted.
“The cat I understand. But thecow? Why did you not just sell it and buy a new one?”
Graham huffed out a breath, looking along the fence line. Then he bent down and picked up an axe that had been left leaning against a spot on the fence. “I purchased that cow when I returned home from Cambridge. When my family needed her most, she produced more than a cow should. And she was halfway through her third pregnancy when Ipurchased Highcliffe House. Selling her when we left would have felt like a crime after all she did for us.”
“Left? But why would you leave your childhood home?” I swallowed. This was none of my business. Indeed, I’d inserted myself into Graham’s private affairs without cause or necessity, and here I was, asking for more, but I had to know.
“Home?” Graham reared back, brows furrowed. A look of disgust passed over his features. “That place was not a home.”
I furrowed my brow. Not home? What, then, caused his family to leave? Graham never spoke of his childhood. Rarely allowed a glimpse into his life before London to anyone. If he had, I’d have heard something by now. To Papa, he’d spoken of his mother, his sisters, but never ...
“Do you mean it was not a home after your father died?” I winced. So forward, and so brash. But there was something Graham wasn’t saying, something that pained him beyond words, and we were teetering on the precipice.
Graham was silent, watching me carefully, with sweat on his brow and specks of dirt on his unshaven jaw. Then he drew in a steady breath and tilted his head, thoughtful. “My father did not die, Anna. He left us. I have not seen him in almost nine years.”
My features froze. No, that could not be. A father leaving his family was unfathomable. The greatest dishonor. I thought back over everything Papa had told me and every piece of Graham’s life story I’d gleaned from random conversation over the years. “But that cannot be. You’ve a country house just outside of London. And I swear someone told me you lived with your grandfather in the summers.”
“Yes. My grandfather cared for my education. He did everything he could to account for my father’s lacking.” Hegripped the axe naturally, and without his waistcoat or jacket, he seemed somehow bigger, stronger. Lines of muscle were taut with strength from his neck down into his arms.
Graham.
Graham Everett.
He turned to the fence and swung down upon a wooden pole lining the fence. It busted too easily, and I realized the wood had rotted. “My father traveled in the summers, seeking easy money to maintain the façade he showed Society, while my mother stayed behind with Ginny.”
He swung again, and five wood panels broke away. Mesmerized by his strength and how easily he managed his axe, I watched his back as he kicked at the remnants, pushing them away with his boot.
“He left you all.” My voice was small, quiet with remorse and disbelief.
Graham picked up a long log and set it in the same fashion the others had been placed. Then he turned the axe over to the flat side and started hammering the wood into the supple earth. “Grandfather hired tutors for me, then sent me to Cambridge on his own account when I was sixteen. I attended for nearly two years. When he died, I went home to mourn with my family, only to realize that the happy letters my mother was sending me were all pretenses.”
I waited while he set another log against the others. “Something was wrong?”
He grunted, then started hammering again. “My father had not returned all year, and our funds were as nonexistent as our food. My mother managed the house and tended the garden alone because, without pay, our servants had found better employment. I used my meager savings to buy acow—thatcow—and the last necessities we needed to get through the winter.”
