Page 29 of Reforming Lord Neil

“There, you see,” Teresa said, coming to stand next to him, their arms almost brushing. “She did not come to look at cherries, but at you.”

“How many male customers have you had today? I imagine most of them came this direction for a similar reason.” He leaned one shoulder against the back of the wagon, that almost rakish smile reappearing.

She laughed and waved at the air between them, brushing his compliment away. “I am a widow with an eleven-year-old daughter nearly as tall as I am.”

Though he opened his mouth to answer, another person appeared. A servant, seeking cherries for her mistress. Then came another, and another, until the cherries were gone. Teresa climbed into the wagon and stacked her empty baskets. She had sold a few, along with the cherries inside, which would mean a making purchases of baskets closer to home. But she had enough to purchase shoes for Caroline, the fabric for warm winter coats, and money to put by in case of any emergencies.

Mr. Duncan prepared the horse, then took them out of town the way they had come in. “Do you feel the day went in your favor?” he asked.

“I feel many things are in my favor of late.” Teresa watched the people they passed, smiling to herself. “And what of your day? You were gone for some time.”

“So I was.” He offered her the reins. “Would you mind taking hold of these a moment?”

Amused, Teresa accepted, and he reached into his coat to pull out a pair of thick leather gloves. “It took me some time to find these.” He slipped them on, then took out a slim book. “And here, a small collection of Shakespeare’s Sonnets, for you and Miss Caroline.”

“Oh, you did not have to—”

“Of course not. But I wanted to. I also have a bag of sweets for the ladies to enjoy.” He tucked the book back inside his coat and reached for the reins again, which she gave up to him freely. He faced forward, his attention on the road.

“Mr. Duncan, you are too kind.”

“Not really. I left you to yourself all morning.” He shrugged his shoulders, almost as more of a stretch than a gesture. “I knew you could take care of things on your own, though. Apart from being an attractive woman, you are highly capable.”

Teresa should not have spoken so openly to him about his looks. It invited such comments to be returned in kind. “I think we had better leave our opinions about such things unsaid, Mr. Duncan.”

“That would likely be wise. The last time I complimented a lady, her husband threatened to call me out.” He sighed deeply, and Teresa almost laughed.

“That is a jest, surely.”

He turned just enough in her direction to offer a wink. “Perhaps.”

Teresa bit her lip, trying not to grin. The man’s behavior was never exactly inappropriate, but she sensed a great deal of playfulness hiding beneath the surface of his polite veneer. If she had not adapted to the working class life, if she had met him in a ballroom or at a card party, perhaps she would glimpse even more of his wit and charm.

The drive home was more pleasant than the one to town, and they stopped to eat a simple repast of bread, fruit, and cider while the horse watered himself at a stream. Teresa nibbled at an apple while reading through the book of sonnets, already planning on which she would ask Caroline to memorize first.

Some were likely inappropriate for such a young girl, given how passionately themes of love were proclaimed within them. But Shakespeare was an essential part of any English child’s studies.

Mr. Duncan sat with his legs stretched before him, leaning back upon his elbows, watching the horse at the stream. The road was within an easy distance, and more than one person had passed since they had stopped for a rest.

“I have been thinking,” Mr. Duncan said abruptly, “about your late husband.”

Teresa lowered the book, keeping her place with her thumb. “I beg your pardon? Thinking of Henry? Whatever for?”

“You were married to him for ten years. I come from a family full of secrets. Even if I could not tell what someone was hiding from me, there were always signs of secrets. Was there truly nothing that made you wary of your husband’s behavior?”

Her throat tightened on her last swallow of apple, and Teresa had to drink more cider to rid herself of the unpleasant sensation before she could answer. “There was nothing. I have thought on it again and again, but perhaps he was a very good actor. Or he did not think it wrong, so he did not behave as though there was anything amiss.”

That answer did not seem to convince Mr. Duncan. He leaned all the way back, tucking his hands behind his head. The man was long, from head to toe, and he certainly filled his clothes out well, though she would never call him a broad man. He had an elegant, trim and masculine stature.

Did men object to being called elegant?

Teresa pushed that wayward thought aside and brought her focus back to the topic at hand. “The solicitor and Frederick were very clear on the matter. Henry lost everything he could lose. And then some.”

“My brother is a gambler,” Mr. Duncan said, his eyes still on the clouds drifting overhead. “It is not something one can hide, when they feel the call to cards. It becomes something of an obsession, the way others rely upon drink or laudanum. They find any excuse to sneak away to tables. They constantly think of getting away from company to feed the hunger.”

With a sick twist in her stomach, Teresa closed the book. “I never saw Henry behave in such a way.” Her words sounded defensive, even to her. But she had no wish to continue the conversation. None at all. To distract herself from the topic, she began tidying away their food back into the basket her mother had packed. Mr. Duncan did not move to help her, but he did turn his head to watch.

“Teresa—”