Page 20 of Forgotten No More

“I don’t know…”

“Allow yourself to forget the here and now—to be just Ruby, the girl I remember, and Harold—childhood friends.”

Her eyes held skepticism when they met his. “I do wish life was that simple.”

“It can be. Is it so hard to let go of the things one cannot change?”

“I could ask you the same question.” Instead of turning back toward the house as he expected, she took his proffered hand and continued to the dock.

“Maybe it is unfeasible to permanently forget one’s life, but…” He smiled as he assisted her into the small boat. “…we can both agree to a short time together, without the questions and concerns of our daily existence. Could we do that?”

He held his breath as he awaited her reply.

“I think that is quite possible.”

He stepped in the boat behind her, helping her into the seat at the front of the craft. Then he took his place facing her at the bow of their small vessel. He reached out and untied the line keeping the boat at dock, then took the oars in hand.

“Where to, my lady?”

“Well, my lord,” she countered. “I would enjoy a trip to Paris… Perhaps see the latest fashions or visit the Louvre.”

“And what if I do not seek a turn about fashionable Paris, but a sojourn in the wilds of Africa?”

“Africa? Who would enjoy the dreadful heat of the desert?” she asked. “I do believe we are not suitably attired for such a journey.”

“But we are for Paris?”

She turned a serious look to him. “I do believe you are correct.”

With the oar, Harold pushed away from the dock. As he started to row, waves rippled, disturbing the serenity of the water. In the distance he could hear the strains of a waltz and the laughter of the many men and women in attendance, but on the lake, it was only the two of them.

“May I interest you in a peaceful row about a pond in the middle of a garden, just out of sight of a very busy ballroom?”

“That would be lovely, Harold.”

She’d dropped the imagined ‘my lord,’ and that made him happy. He was only Harold, or Mr. Jakeston. A title was not in his future, nor did he envy those who held them.

The quiet of the night was only broken by the gentle slap of the oars as Harold deftly rowed them to the far side of the pond and away from any prying eyes of the ton who might also be strolling about the lush garden.

He searched for a safe topic of conversation—one without questions or accusations. He couldn’t ask how she was enjoying London, nor if she planned to retire to her parents’ home come the Christmas holiday.

“How are you enjoying your work with the Foldger’s Foundling House?” There was no more neutral of a subject, and Harold truly wanted to know how Vi’s home was doing after all the children had relocated from London to the country.

A spark lit her eyes. “Oh, the children are adapting splendidly. They’re learning to ride. The girls to sit a proper side saddle and the boys to hunt. The kitchen is fairly large, so Mrs. Hutton has taken to giving lessons to all who are interested in the art of meal preparation.”

“Do you and Lady Haversham plan to travel there anytime soon?” He hoped his question was subtle. He found he was very interested in her future plan, and hoped they included her continued presence in London.

“Most definitely before the winter weather becomes too harsh,” Ruby replied. “We must outfit all the children with suitable clothes for the cold season.”

“Ah, so you enjoy your responsibilities there?”

“Very much so, yes.”

“I have heard Brock has many plans for renovating the house, as well.”

“Vi would like to help not only children with maladies, but also unwanted street children. To do that, Lord Haversham has commissioned the addition of a dormitory building that will enable Mrs. Hutton to care for another thirty children.” As she spoke, Ruby let the passing water caress her fingertips, much as she’d lightly touched the flowers.

He tore his eyes from the sight and refocused on their conversation. “Mrs. Hutton is truly a saint.”