“He will be all right,” Cassandra said. “Mr. Crawford's a strong and sensible man.”
“I know that, Cass.” Preparing the tea strainer, Mary poured hot water through it and into the pot, busying herself in a futile attempt to keep her mind off the storm outside and the man who was caught up in it. She jumped when another boom sounded overhead and took a deep breath to steady herself. “I know my concern is irrational, but I cannot seem to make it go away.”
“Because you care about him,”Cassandra said. “Deeply.”
Mary closed her eyes briefly. “How is that even possible, Cass? When I decided five years ago never to form an attachment to another man ever again?”
“That was before you met Mr. Crawford,” Cassandra told her gently.
Mary stared down at the teapot that now stood waiting. “What am I to do?”
Silence hung in the air for a moment, and then Cassandra’s hand touched her shoulder. “You could choose to give Mr. Crawford a chance and see where things lead.”
Mary drew a quivering breath. “The effect he has on me terrifies me. I worry it’s clouding my judgment and that it will prompt me to make the same mistake I made once before.”
Cassandra dropped her hand and fetched a tray which she set before Mary so she could place the teapot and cups upon it. “Having a relationship of any kind puts us at risk of getting hurt, Mary. The key is to determine whether or not the other person is worth that risk.”
“How can I possibly know that, Cass?” Mary shook her head. She wanted to believe the best of Mr. Crawford. His actions so far had certainly convinced her that he was thoughtful and considerate, but was that enough to ensure she could trust him?
Cassandra looked at her and smiled. “What does your heart tell you?”
Groaning, Mary scrubbed the palm of her hand across her face. “My heart has been wrong before. I’d be a fool to follow it again.” No. This time, she’d use her head, and her head was telling her to be cautious. “And besides, you heard him yourself this evening at dinner. He will leave here as soon as his work is complete. He gave no indication at all that he would have cause to stay.”
“Have you given him any, Mary?” Cassandra’s gaze held hers.
“Maybe not.” But suppose she overcame her fears and told him how much he meant to her. Could she ask him to stay when she knew his mother needed him? “I’m not sure doing so would be in his best interest.”
Cassandra sighed. “I hope you’re right about that, because the only thing worse than getting hurt is having to live with regret.”
The outside door burst open just as she finished speaking, bringing rain and leaves and a sopping wet Mr. Crawford into the kitchen. Water dripped from his hair and ran down his body, pooling around his mud-stained boots. In his arms, he cradled a scraggly clump of shabby fur that meowed with piercing dissatisfaction.
Crossing the floor, Mary brushed past Mr. Crawford and closed the door to shut out the cold. He was shivering badly, and she could see now that his face was terribly pale.
“Come on,” she said, applying her most practical tone. “Let’s get you warmed up.” She pulled Raphael away from Mr. Crawford and handed him over to Cassandra.
“I’ll take him up to Daphne,” Cassandra said. “Thank you, Mr. Crawford. She’ll be most pleased to know he is well and safe indoors.”
Mr. Crawford nodded in a jerky way, and Mary immediately set to work, pulling his jacket from his shoulders and hanging it over the back of a chair near the stove to dry. His shirt, she saw, was plastered to his arms while splotches of dampness stained his waistcoat. Somehow, she would have to get him dry before he caught a cold.
“I’ve made some tea,” she said and went to pick up the tray. “We can have it in the parlor while you warm yourself by the fire.”
He didn’t respond but she sensed he was following her out into the hallway and toward the cozy room that awaited. Reaching around her, he opened the door so she could enter, his arm grazing her shoulder to spark her awareness.
Mary stepped into the welcoming warmth, and he closed the door behind them to keep the heat in, which of course made her keenly aware of how very alone they now were. She crossed to the small table in front of the sofa and set the tray down while he moved closer to the fire. She poured two cups of tea and offered him one of them.
“Thank you.” His voice was low.
Mary watched as he sipped his drink. A sigh of supreme satisfaction rose from deep within his chest, then his gaze met hers, and the smile that followed almost knocked her off her feet. Her pulse leapt and her fingers tingled with the sudden urge to reach out and touch him and offer him comfort.
“Those wet clothes won’t do you any favors,” she said, not knowing where she found the words to imply something as scandalous as him undressing with her in the room, but it did seem like a reasonable thing for him to do if he wished to avoid getting sick.
He raised an eyebrow. “You want me to take them off?”
“I want to ensure your comfort,” she explained while fighting to keep her back rigid and her voice as serious as possible.
With a snort, he set his cup on the mantle and started unbuttoning his waistcoat. “I can think of a few ways for you to do so, Miss Clemens.”
Heat ignited in Mary’s cheeks, and she instinctively retreated a step. “I’m going to fetch you a blanket,” she muttered, backing away even further in the direction of the door.
