Page 55 of Mail-Order Lady

The main room was dim after the afternoon glare, and he blinked to adjust his eyes.

James pulled the door closed, and the sound of voices carried from somewhere down the hall. Footsteps.

Thomas stepped from the dining room, Mandie and little Catherine behind him. Enoch came through from the back of the house, and Rose moved to stand beside James.

None of the faces was the one he needed to see though. “Where’s Clara?”

James tipped his head toward the closed door on the left side of the room. “In there.”

The study door. His study.

No one used that room without asking him first. Not in the years since he’d claimed it as his own—the desk, the maps, the files, the organized silence of a space where everything had a place and stayed in it.

His brothers knew better. The women had never had cause.

But Clara was his wife.

He crossed to the door and opened it enough to see inside.

She sat at the desk. Not in his chair—she’d pulled the smaller side chair around and angled it to catch the window light. Her honey-colored hair was pinned up like she always wore it, the late afternoon light from the window catching the loose strands at her nape. Her head bent over her paper, and the pen moved in her hand.

Writing.

The sight of her there—at his desk, in the one space in this house that had always been his alone—should have felt wrong. Intrusive, maybe.

It felt strange. But not wrong.

He pushed the door open all the way.

She startled and turned, her hand lifting from the paper. Her eyes went wide. “Robert.” A flush rose in her cheeks. “You’re back.”

“I am.”

She stood and stepped away from the desk like she’d been caught somewhere she shouldn’t be. “I’m sorry. I was in your study. I know I shouldn’t have been without asking, but⁠—”

“It’s fine.” The words came out too quickly. He needed to slow down. To think. But the flush in her cheeks and the way she’d said his name. Different from before. Like the kiss had changed things for her too.

He cleared his throat. “You’re my wife. You don’t need permission to be in any room in this house.”

Her shoulders eased a fraction. “I wanted somewhere quiet to write.” She glanced back at the desk, and the movement drew his attention to the paper there. Several sheets, actually, covered in her neat script. “I didn’t disturb anything.”

“I’m glad you’re here.” As the words left his mouth, they felt like an echo. Not an exact repeat of what she’d said after the kiss, but close. Did she realize it too?

The space between them felt too wide and too narrow at once. He wanted to cross to her. To pull her into his arms the way he had yesterday. To kiss her again and feel her fingers slide into his hair and hear that catch in her breath.

But he couldn’t. Not now, with everyone gathered in the main room waiting for him to deliver the telegram.

He cleared his throat again. “I need to tell everyone what Father said.”

She nodded, that flush still coloring her cheeks. “Of course.”

She moved toward the door, and he stepped aside to let her pass. Not too far away though. The scent of her—like flowers and soap—drifted with her. Would it be wrong to reach out and touch her?

He didn’t take the opportunity, coward that he was, just followed her into the main room.

Everyone had gathered now. James and Rose near the door. Enoch with Mandie and little Catherine on her hip. Thomas stood with arms crossed behind the settee where Kate rested. Bea had come in from the kitchen, wiping her hands on her apron.

Clara moved to sit beside her sister, and Kate reached for her hand in that quiet way they had. Kate’s face held little color except the shadows under her eyes and the pink of her lips. Was something wrong with her other than sickness from the babe? This wasn’t the time to ask, but he would find out later.