Page 6 of A Momentary Marriage

Had he just given her a compliment? It seemed unlikely. “What’s his name?”

“Demosthenes.”

“Demosthenes?” Her eyes flicked up to his. “The orator?”

“And seeker of truth.” James gave her a faint smile that didn’t reach his eyes; it was the only kind she had ever seen on his face. “He has a knack for pulling the truth out of people.”

“Mm. I imagine he can be very persuasive.” Laura smiled.

James shifted and cleared his throat. “Miss Hinsdale . . . as I told that oaf, I’ve come to see your father. Is Dr. Hinsdale in?”

Unexpectedly, tears filled Laura’s eyes. She had not cried for a few days, but somehow now, at his casual mention of her father’s name, she was pierced all anew. She could see James’s eyes widen slightly, his faint but unmistakable pulling back.

“What—” he began, but left the sentence dangling.

“Papa died two weeks ago,” she told him baldly. No need to couch things in a genteel manner with this man.

Despair gazed back at her for an instant before the mask descended once again on James’s face. “I see.” His hand tightened on the head of his cane and he appeared to lean on it now rather than use it as a whim of fashion. “Well, that’s that, then.” He glanced away. “My condolences.” Then, awkwardly, “I am sorry, Laura.”

“Thank you.” The use of her given name startled her; he had not addressed her so since they were children. Though he was Graeme’s cousin, he had never been Laura’s friend. But there was a genuineness to his brief statement that unexpectedly touched her. “Would you like to come in?”

He looked as if he needed to sit down.

“Oh. Well.” James’s face was tinged with an uncertainty she had never seen in him. “Yes, thank you.”

He followed her into the house, pausing at the doorway. “Perhaps you’d rather Dem not enter.”

“Why?” She looked over at the dog. “He was my rescuer, after all.”

“He is also rather large, and he has a deplorable tendency to, um, salivate.”

As if to demonstrate, Dem shook himself vigorously, sending slobber flying from his drooping jowls. Laura laughed. Somehow it made the impassive dog less intimidating.

“I see what you mean. Still, he deserves a treat, don’t you think? I suspect we can handle a bit of a shower.”

Both man and dog trailed after her as she went into the kitchen. Filling a large bowl with water, she set it down on the floor. While Demosthenes lapped up water, she fished through a pan on the stove, coming up with a bone, which she placed on a plate beside the dog.

“You have made a friend for life.”

At James’s words, Laura turned toward him. He stood in the doorway, still perfectly straight, but there was something unutterably weary in his face. He was ill; that would be why he had come to see her father. It must be something dire to have led him here. Not, of course, that he would deign to tell her. She gestured toward the kitchen table.

“Won’t you sit down? Or perhaps you’d rather sit in the parlor.” Sir James was not the sort of man who visited in the kitchen.

“This is fine.”

“Would you care for tea?” She moved to the stove to heat the kettle without waiting for an answer.

“Thank you, no,” he replied, but when she set the cups down on the table a few minutes later, he took a sip.

It was exceedingly strange to be sitting at the kitchen table with Sir James de Vere, sharing tea. Laura cast about for something to say. “I’m sorry you came all this way. Can I help you, perhaps, or . . .” Laura trailed off.

“Thank you, no,” he said again, with as little emotion as he had earlier rejected her offer of tea. “It was a professional matter. Graeme suggested it. Clearly, he was not aware of your father’s passing.”

“No.” Laura shook her head. “I haven’t written his mother yet. It must be such a happy time at Lydcombe Hall, with the new baby. I hated to bring up anything sad.”

“I am sure Aunt Mirabelle would want to know, however. And Graeme.”

“Yes, she’s always been very kind to me. She and my mother were close friends.”