“Oh, Tabitha,” Mrs. Everett chided, disgusted. “Enough.”
She leaned in close. “His insides were pink and blue, all slimy and soft.”
I started to gag, but recovered. “You are welcome,” Isaid, patting her shoulder. “Where is your brother?” I looked around the room, rocking back and forth on my heels.
“On a walk,” Ginny said, with a curious note of censure in her voice. “Clearing his head.”
“His banker visited this morning,” Mrs. Everett explained. “An old friend.”
“Ah,” I said, stepping farther into the room. “Is everything well?”
Mrs. Everett looked up with a measuring glance. “There is always something. Success from investments means constant motion. This is not the first time Mr. Richards has visited unannounced.”
My shoulders relaxed. “Of course not. Forgive me. Perhaps I will try to catch Mr. Everett on his walk.”
“No, you cannot leave!” Tabs held fast to me, her little arms encircling my waist. “Your father returns any moment.”
Mrs. Everett added, “Indeed, he sent word just now, Miss Lane. Your father arrived in Brighton and is settling at a local inn before visiting Highcliffe House directly.”
Goodness, he’d had an early start. It didn’t seem real, having to face him now that I knew everything. He’d likely apologize. I’d listen to his excuses, but I knew I’d forgive him because Graham was right. Papa loved me. He’d wanted to protect my heart, and wasn’t that what I’d been asking for all along? Through all that Mr. Lennox had done and all the gossip that had followed, I’d wanted Papa to keep me from the pain of a broken heart. But sometimes pain demanded to be embraced. I had to trust that there would be something worthwhile on the other side of whatever conversation Papa and I would soon have.
“This week has flown by with the gulls,” Ginny said, peering up from her embroidery.
“Perhaps your father would like to stay at Highcliffe House,” Tabs suggested as she released her hold on me to mosey back to her mother. “I wish to read to you my favorite story.”
“In time,” her mother said. She kissed Tabs’s brow, then looked up at me. “Graham does not often walk farther than a quarter mile down the shoreline.”
I took that as my cue.
I forewent my hat and skipped down the steps to the drive, then hurried around to the back of Highcliffe House to where a narrow, dusty path led down to the shore. A bit of a walk, but I needed to see Graham. I wanted to see his face, measure his gaze, take his hand in mine.
The breeze carried me around the house, down toward the little shed and its fenced plot where Graham’s cow grazed. I remembered our time together that morning. How much of his past he’d revealed, and the sorrow in his eyes. The little path branched, and I took the route that led me down a steep decline, which I managed with careful steps, then hopped down to the rocky shore. I looked both ways down the shoreline and saw him not far away, sitting on a rock and facing the sea.
“Good morning,” I called, carefully pacing toward him.
Startled, Graham looked up, then slowly rose to his feet. “Good morning,” he returned. “You’re awake.”
He looked exhausted and serious—perhaps Tabs had kept him up all night again with nightmares?—and combed a hand through his hair as though that might fix it all.
I watched him paint a smile on his face as I stopped infront of him. Our eyes met, and we smiled together remembering last evening. The delicious awkwardness of a new beginning. I studied every curve of his face, and he studied mine. Every freckle, every scar, every line of worry and age brought about too soon. I reached out and ruffled his hair back to the way it usually was, the way I preferred it, then asked, “Am I interrupting your thoughts?”
Slowly, he placed one hand on my waist, then the other. “Youaremy thoughts,” he answered, pulling me nearer.
I bit back a shy smile. “Thank you for my poppies.”
He nodded, eyes set upon mine. “I’d have bought you roses or lilies, but you did say they were your favorite.”
“Rare to find, I’d wager, so close to the sea.”
Graham said nothing, only studied my face as I slipped my hands up and over his shoulders. Slowly, so slightly, his features turned downcast. Something had him out here, sitting alone, staring at the sea.
“Graham,” I said gently. “What is troubling you?”
He smiled halfway, looking over my shoulder and shaking his head. “It’s nothing.”
Hardly.“If you’re worried about my father, I am resolved to forgive him. Indeed, I feel much more understanding this morning than I did yesterday.”
He raised both brows in surprise. “I am happy to hear it.”
