“Yes, you should go and get some rest,” Mr. Crawford told him. He stood and brushed a few shavings from his trousers. When Peter looked ready to argue, Mr. Crawford said, “You’ll need it if I am to show you how to hammer in nails tomorrow. Get good at it, and I’ll help you make a box for your tools.”
“I don’t have any tools,” Peter murmured.
Mr. Crawford bent his head so he could speak to Peter in a conspiratorial tone. “We’ll have to rectify that then, won’t we?”
The joy in Peter’s eyes was enough to make Mary’s heart melt. She could almost cry with pleasure on account of the boy’s enthusiasm. He was clearly delighted, and his thoughts had been shifted toward brighter things. Thanks to Mr. Crawford.
“I'll clean that up,” Mr. Crawford said, gesturing toward the mess he'd made. “Just show me where there's a brush and a dust pan.”
“All right,” Mary said.
Cassandra followed them out into the hallway. Her hand caught Mary's elbow, pulling Mary back so she could whisper, “Don't be too long,” before saying good night to Mr. Crawford and turning toward the stairs.
Heat flooded Mary's cheeks, and for a quick second she thought of telling Mr. Crawford they could leave it until the morning, but at the same time, she longed to be alone with him.
Careful.
Such folly had cost her dearly before. It had led to a stolen kiss and her foolish conviction that the man who'd whispered words of endearment in her ear meant to court her and marry her. Instead he'd been ordered to forget her. His father had not deemed her worthy of his son or his title.
Offering Mr. Crawford a hesitant look, Mary told herself this was different becausehewas different. He was just an ordinary man while she...well, she was about as ordinary now as she ever would be.
But that doesn't mean he can't hurt you.
She pushed the warning aside with the solid reminder that they'd only just met and that all they were doing was cleaning the floor. He was hardly going to proposition her in the process.
“This way,” she said.
Ignoring the shiver her wayward thoughts caused, she led him into the kitchen and across to a closet next to the pantry.
Mr. Crawford lit the way with a candle he’d brought along from the parlor. The light from it flickered across the walls, trapping them both in an intimate glow.
At her back she could feel the heat of his gaze upon her. Or maybe it was just the flame from the candle. She did not know, but it did cause a slow burn in the pit of her belly and a mad desire to turn and embrace him.
Of course, she didn't. Doing so would be far too improper. And dangerous. So she opened the closet and collected the items they'd come for.
“What are you making?” she asked while she helped him sweep up the shavings a few minutes later.
“A fishing rod,” he said.
Surprised, Mary glanced up from the dust pan she held. He was watching her intensely.
“Really?” A more elaborate response failed her.
“It's for Peter,” he murmured, and she almost flew into his arms, the compulsion to offer her thanks and convey her gratitude so intense it was hard to resist. “I thought it might distract him,” Mr. Crawford continued. “I always enjoyed fishing myself, and in my experience, most boys do.”
“You should probably make one for Eliot too,” she said.
“I plan to, but Peter will get his first. He seems to need it more.”
Mary nodded and bowed her head as she repositioned the dust pan. Mr. Crawford swept additional shavings onto it. “Have you made many such things before?” she asked, her curiosity piqued by this skill of his.
“Not really, but I know what they're supposed to look like, so I'm sure I'll figure it out.”
His answer amazed her, and she looked up again. He was closer than he had been before, and he stared right at her with unwavering intensity.
“You're a remarkable man, Mr. Crawford.” Not only because he could fix a roof or make a fishing rod out of nearly nothing, but because he chose to devote his spare time to making a sad boy happy.
His hand reached out as if to touch her, and Mary steeled herself for the contact. But then as if catching himself, he withdrew and straightened his posture. “All done,” he murmured and offered his hand to help her rise.
