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Your word is your character. He heard his father’s voice. Once a gentleman gives his word, he must move heaven and earth to keep that word, my son.
He cursed the counsel from beyond.
He knew integrity’s price too well. Now, his was linked with Lenora’s.
He adjusted his cuffs, making sure the lines in the braiding were perfectly straight.
Her sisters knew her best. Therefore, he had to concede she might be scared. However, she always seemed so sure of herself, so confident in her observations.
So confident in him.
Lenora. Scared. Hungry. Confused. A deep urge to act welled up inside him.
What wouldn’t he do if he could take away her fear?
Move heaven and earth, my son. Heaven and earth.
***
As the barouche swayed and rattled down the street, its closed top and drawn curtains made Asquith feel disproportionately large. Or perhaps he just felt large because Lenora had made herself small.
She sat beside him, hands clasped in her lap and shoulders curled in tightly enough to prevent any accidental touch. Pointedly, she fixed her gaze on the sliver of uncovered glass.
On arrival at D’Acre House, his intention had been to retrieve her, convey her straight to Asquith House, and then depart without delay—eliminating rumor, removing doubt, and, most importantly, avoiding temptation.
He’d also planned to give her a piece of his mind while they traveled. But now, thanks to Eliza and Millie, he knew he had misdirected his ire.
Since his mother had announced her plans, he’d treated Lenora with spite. With contempt.
An old image he’d thought long buried came to mind—the dormitory demon Willard, ordering silly “scared Simon” to kneel in front of the privy and prepare to be dunked.
Bullies were contemptuous. Bullies were cruel. And bullies reveled in the terror they instilled in their victims.
Had he, in Lenora’s eyes, been a bully? He studied her openly. She looked wan, as if she hadn’t eaten.
God help him, he had.
What should he do?
He doubted she would accept a plate of mash covered with shredded carrots, apples, and molasses, like the one he’d given Mont when he first arrived at the stables and refused to eat.
She wasn’t a horse. But treats were treats, weren’t they?
“Shall I have the coachman stop at an apple cart?” he asked.
She turned to him with an expression that suggested he’d lost his mind.
“You look... hungry,” he explained.
She blanched.
“That went well,” he said under his breath.
“I know you think this visit was my idea.” She shuddered as she inhaled. “But I had nothing to do with your mother’s invitation.”
This was her answer to his query about apples? Had she been having an entirely different conversation in her head?
“Honestly,” she continued, “I don’t understand how you could assume I was responsible. How could angering you help me, especially after we’d just agreed to be friends?” She turned back to the window. “I was happy after our meeting. Silly of me.”
