Page 47
And yet, she hardly knew the woman they’d spoken to earlier.
I’m dying.
It was not true. Idalia refused to believe it. But if her mother thought it to be true, she supposed such a sentiment could change the way a person thought of everything around them.
Taking a deep breath and climbing the stairs, Idalia opened the door at the top and saw him immediately.
When he turned, her breath caught. Her entire body felt as if it were a bowl of pudding, and for a long moment she could do naught but stand there looking at him, like a simpleton.
“I thought you may not come.” His deep, resonant voice vibrated through her very soul.
“If anyone should be running for Eller’s Green, it is you. After that discussion . . .”
She trailed off, not knowing what to say.
He did not move toward her. An awkwardness had settled between them after their audience with her mother, one she would do anything to dispel.
“I will admit, it was certainly not what I expected.”
“What did you expect?”
“To be tossed from Stanton, at best.”
The thought had occurred to her as well. To save his position and his reputation, she’d been prepared to promise she would never see or speak to him again.
A promise that would have killed her.
The thought sent a pang through her chest.
“I am sorry—”
One moment Idalia stood there, wishing there was not so much distance between them—the next, she was in his arms.
“Do not” was all he said as he held her.
She squeezed him, reveling in the feel of him in her arms, then turned to face the stars and settled back in his embrace, wishing she could stay this way forever.
Neither said anything for some time.
“Is your mother . . . is she truly dying?” he asked finally.
Her answer was instantaneous. “Nay.”
He was quiet again.
“Tell me of your mother,” she said finally, wishing to hear of the woman who had made such a man. Would that she could have known her. She squeezed him, as if to encourage him to speak, but he remained silent for a time. When he did finally speak, her heart jumped in her chest.
“She was so beautiful. Every man in the village whispered about her beauty. And caring, like you.”
Idalia’s heart hurt for the pain she heard in his voice. She was glad not to see his face. If she did, she might cry—something she did easily—and that wasn’t what he needed from her just now.
“I don’t speak of her often.”
“Why?”
One hand moved to her head, and the simple act of Lance caressing her hair was, as of this moment, her favorite thing in the world.
“My father . . .”
