They dragged the next set of boards over. “It would be a pity if folks shunned her over this,” Banks went on.
Zach stopped the work and leaned up on one elbow breathing heavily. “We’re in agreement on that. I don’t think an alliance with a half-crippled coachman will enhance her standing any, however.”
“Half crippled?” Banks snorted glancing at Zach’s rigid ankle. “You scrambled up this roof right enough.”
“Her cousin would have fits if a shopkeeper dared—”
“That earl? He don’t give a damn what Miss Patience does. That’s why she needs friends to protect her interest.” Banks stuck up his chin to make sure Zach understood she had friends. “There are harpies everywhere, Newell. Fenwick was no different even before they took to calling it ‘on Sea’ and putting on airs. Folks will notice. Mark my words.”
“Hand me those nails.”
Banks did.
“I don’t know how I would have managed if you hadn’t come, Banks.” Zach said through the nails he held in his teeth. He took to hammering. Loudly.
The wooden panels pried from the shed covered the hole and managed some overlap, to Zach’s relief. He tossed the hammer and pulley to the barnyard and crawled aside so Banks could go down the ladder first. He waited patiently while the older man started down. He estimated it was already mid-morning, and he had some time before he had to get them on their way.
“She’s a good woman.” The persistent little farmer glared up with a stubborn set to his chin.
“No one knows that better than I do, Banks.” Zach’s long cold night resulted from his assurance on that point.
Banks didn’t move. “Can you read?”
Zach started to laugh. He laughed so hard he fell back onto the roof tiles.
“What is so blasted funny?”
“Is that your only criteria for a suitor for Miss Abney? Literacy?”
“No, but it matters. Her boys need a man who reads.”
It struck Zach then that Banks probably could not. “I read.” He said, scrambling down after the man.
When he got to the ground Banks looked him up and down, studying his face, and then giving a sharp nod. “You’ll do. Tell Miss Patience I’ll look in every day now the storm’s gone.”
With that odd statement he disappeared.
CHAPTER12
Patience saw Banks say something to Zach and leave. “That was an odd look. What did he say to you?”
Zach took the wet cloth she offered without looking at her directly and wiped his hands. “Nothing of import. Go upstairs and check your roof. I’ll be in for those eggs in a bit.”
She did, but didn’t linger. When she peered up at the ceiling, she saw no daylight. The boards weren’t watertight, but they would do for now. In a few hours Zach had protected her school from additional damage, but the roof wasn’t her most immediate problem. What on earth, she wondered, was she to do about the man who worked this small miracle?
By the time she whipped up a fresh batch of fritters and coddled some eggs, Zach led Algernon, saddled and ready, out into the yard. He went back and brought out a bucket of milk, Herc hopping at his heels, and came into the kitchen without meeting her eyes.
He murmured his thanks and ate in silence so thick Patience thought she could brush it aside with a hand; all the while, he stared at his plate and refused to look at her. When she couldn’t stand it any longer, words burst out. “What did Banks say?”
“Nothing we don’t know. If he guessed we’ve been here overnight, other folks will too. He reminded me there are gossips everywhere, even Fenwick on Sea.”
It was Patience’s turn to pull away. The last thing she wanted was this man forced by loose talk to make her an offer he didn’t intend. She cleared the dishes, fussing about the cleaning up, her back to him. “Fenwick won’t care. What with the storm and all, the story won’t even matter.”
“Fenwick might not care—Banks believes otherwise—but the storm brought other verbal vultures to The Queen’s Barque as you already know. They will delight in carrying the subject at least as far as your cousin’s social circle.”
She spun back toward the table. “Herbert? He won’t care. At least—” she caught her lower lip between her teeth.
“What?” He stood and faced her.
