“You are quite alone then.”
“Well, I had forgotten about the Cormacks. Until I saw Boyd. Then it came back to me. That I did still have family.”
“Mr. Cormack told me that you did not speak much when you were young.”
“Aye. I found I had nothing to say. I liked to listen.”
She laughed a little. “I, on the other hand, have plenty to say and can’t bear to listen, Alasd—Dr. Andrews.”
“I am,” a hesitation here, “very interested in what ye have to say.”
Suddenly she had nothing to say.
The carriage went over a rut and they bounced a bit on the seat and Arabella jostled into Alasdair momentarily.
“My apologies, Miss Lovelock,” he murmured and pulled away.
She bit her lip. Then she burst out, “You should know that Mr. Cormack understands that I have refused him.”
He said nothing.
Her body touching his for just a moment. And it had not escaped him that she had almost called him Alasdair.
But then why did he not say something when she told him that she refused Boyd? Surely that would have been the right time for him to have said something to her of his intentions. To hint at least. To have said something like, “Perhaps ye might accept someone else?”
But if she had rebuffed him, then to sit in this carriage for another five or six or seven days with her? It would have been agony. How could he have borne it? He would never be able to recover from that injury to his uncalloused heart.
And she would be witness to his pain.
He was still a coward.
She broke the awkward silence, rescuing him. Dauntless Arabella.
“What do you do for amusement, Dr. Andrews?”
He cleared his throat. “Chiefly, I read. But yer sister and her husband are kind enough to have me for dinner from time to time.”
“And what do you read? Your medical books and papers?” She gestured at the forgotten periodical in his hand.
“Aye,” he said slowly. “Aye, that and the works of Sir Walter Scott.” He looked at her sideways, thinking that he might see some spark, some recognition, that she would seize on this topic and he would finally be able to impress her with his interest in her own pastime.
But she was looking out the window at the backward-rolling scenery. He returned his eyes to the seat straight ahead of him.
“I don’t seem to have much time for reading novels anymore,” she said, absently. “But perhaps once at Sommerleigh again, I might.”
“Yer sister will be happy to see ye.”
“And I, her. The best thing about Harry is that there will be no recriminations. She will accept me as I am.” She shook her head. “No grudges, no what-ifs, no mourning. No living in the past. No being haunted by mistakes.”
“Is that,” Alasdair hesitated and then plunged on, “is that why ye have not asked yet about yer mother? Or even mentioned her? Ye fear how she will treat ye?”
He could feel Arabella stiffen next to him.
“Yes, but ... Dr. Andrews, I don’t know what you know of ... why I left London.”
His mind raced. What should he tell her? As always, he felt the truth was the best course.
“Lady Drake told me something of it. When I asked about yer absence.”
