Page 21 of Forgotten No More

“That she is. I cannot think of a more worthy calling for a woman of her stature.”

“And you?”

“And me, what?” She sat a bit straighter at the question.

“What is your calling?” Harold was unsure if talk of their future was also unacceptable for this time ‘at sea.’

A pensive look crossed her face and he wondered—not for the first time—what secrets she held; what troubled her so.

“I fear I am much like our little boat here.”

“How so?” He paused his paddling to better hear every word.

“I am adrift, with little direction, dependent on those around me. Much like our direction can be altered by a simple breeze, so can my course be changed by a few words.”

It was more insight into her life then she’d thus far shared, yet the words only confused him. Her life, compared to his own, seemed trouble-free and without responsibilities or commitments. She could live wherever she deemed agreeable, attend social functions with no reservations, and commit herself to any cause she found fulfilling. He sensed there was more to her world than he was privy to, but he was at a loss as to how he might show her he could be trusted with her struggles.

“I am here to talk if you need someone to confide in.”

“That is very kind of you.” She looked to the far shore they’d paddled from. With the gesture, he knew their moment was gone and the real world had invaded once again.

“Shall we return, my captain?”

She laughed, and the light mood returned. “I believe we have no other choice. The evening grows late and I expect Vi and Lord Haversham will notice our disappearance before long.”

Harold didn’t relish relinquishing her to the crowded ballroom. As he maneuvered them back across the water to the dock, he watched her faraway expression return and tried once more to pull her from her own troubles. “May I take you for a ride in Hyde Park tomorrow?”

“That would be lovely, but—”

He’d known there would be some reason she would enlist to call off.

“—Vi and I have a busy shopping excursion planned.”

“I do understand,” Harold said. The bow tapped the dock. “We have arrived. I do hope you enjoyed your time at sea.”

Ruby stood on unsteady feet. “We were neither besieged by pirates nor taken down by merfolk, so I believe our voyage was most agreeable.”

They made their way back to the ballroom much as they had when they’d left, yet, now Ruby clutched Harold’s offered arm and he noticed her subtle glances in his direction.

Harold suppressed his smile and hoped they could possibly turn a new corner. He was shocked to realize he hadn’t thought about her suspicious behavior and secretive activities since they’d descended the steps into the garden.

He was optimistic that their breakthrough would last past this evening and into the coming days.

Chapter 9

Harold held the newly arrived letter—or should he say letters—clutched in his hand. He wanted to flip a table or put his fist through a wall, but that would accomplish nothing but damaging something that wasn’t his to destroy. Violent outbursts solved nothing, and only compounded the preexisting issues. Every time his father had scolded, beaten, or berated his children, it had changed nothing. They couldn’t live up to his impossible moral standards, and Harold and his brothers certainly never respected the vicar for his aggressive displays. The amount of times the good vicar had thrown his supper plate against a wall had not improved their mother’s cooking skills.

Parsons, Brock’s valet, had just delivered the morning’s post to his room. Today, Harold had received three letters from his father, each demanding his attendance in the country. Yesterday, one letter had arrived; two notes the day before that.

He couldn’t help but think his father would have ample time to complete all of his duties—things he claimed he needed Harold’s assistance to do—if he spent more time attending to them and less penning threats to his son.

He’d need to ask William if he too received never-ending letters of complaint.

Alas, his father more often than not made zero sense.

The idiocy of the suggestion that the good vicar could not handle the repairs needed was unfathomable. His father had a number of strong, willing parishioners eager to help him, if only he would call on them.

Brock informed him that funds had been allotted to the family church for much-needed renovations now that the Haversham stables were completely remodeled. But there was no rush, as materials had yet to be ordered from the local mill.