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“What about you?” he continued. “Before Walter, was there ever a gentleman who inspired such devotion? Someone you would have crossed an ocean to follow?”

“No,” she sniggered. “But there have been more than a few I would set sail to avoid.”

Michael found himself laughing as well, and the sound lingered between them as they made their way back toward the yard. Gradually, the quiet of the shore gave way to the familiar sounds of work, and with the Squiffy soon due to return, they parted ways at the slipway—Gwen to welcome Sam home, and Michael to the solitude of the office.

CHAPTER 7

Gwen

Gwen straightened the papers on her desk, aligning the corners with a decisive tap before setting them aside. When Michael didn’t look up, she let her chair grind against the floorboards as she rose. “Are you truly not coming to the celebration tonight?”

Turning the page, he made another notation in the margins, then thumbed forward several pages in the ledger before resuming his scrutiny.

“Michael.”

His finger paused where it swept over the columns. “As I said when you asked the previous three times, I didn’t travel to Wales to drink and dance.”

“But everyone will be in attendance.”

She planted her palm on the desk and leaned close enough to see what had so completely absorbed his attention over the last several hours. “Surely that can wait until morning.”

“It could.” Michael made another mark in the margin. “But there’s no reason to leave it unfinished when I have time to do it now.”

Gwen crossed to the hook by the door and retrieved her coat, grumpily shoving her arms through the sleeves. She paused with her fingers on the door handle.

She would make one last circuit of the yard. There was time yet before the festivities began.

Abandoning her attempts to bully Michael along, Gwen wandered outside along the docks, checking the progress on a packet ship as she passed. She tidied a few tools that had been left out, then found a dozen other little things that needed doing and set about them all with unnecessary purpose.

By the time she had finished, the light was failing, and there was no sensible reason left to linger.

She stopped at the end of the dock and watched a pair of gulls fight over a fish, drawing a deep breath of crisp, briny air.

She’d been so excited about the evening’s revelries. She had counted down the hours until they could lock the doors for the night. Why did it matter that Michael would remain behind? This was what he wanted. Let him stay all night if he wished. What difference did it make to her if he came to the celebration or chose to sit in that chair until his behind went numb?

None.

Of course it made no difference.

Still, she found herself walking back towards the office.

Michael was there, exactly as she had left him. Bent over his papers, a curl of dark hair had fallen across his brow, where his pomade had finally lost its battle. The lamplight caught his shoulders, casting long shadows across his workspace. He was squinting at the page and had not even seemed to notice the waning light.

Gwen crossed to the kettle and waited while the tea steeped, watching him over her shoulder.

As the leaves softened in the heat, releasing their warmth and fragrance into the air, some of Gwen’s irritation began to shift. Beneath it was something she had been avoiding all afternoon.

Guilt.

Michael was carrying a weight that was meant to be hers. Worse, she had no wish to stay and share the burden. The relief she’d felt at the prospect of leaving suddenly seemed very much like selfishness.

She poured the tea and carried it over, then adjusted the lamp, drawing it nearer so the light fell properly across his work.

Finally, he looked up.

For a heartbeat, his expression was wary.

How often had others seen that same look on her own face? Witnessed that same stubbornness in her when she’d been the last to snuff the light.