Page 36 of A Modest Independence

Her brow creased. “I suppose.”

“You don’t sound entirely convinced.”

“I am. That is, I was. Things were much clearer to me in the daylight. They always are. When night falls, I…I have a terrible habit of second-guessing myself. It’s one of the reasons I find it so hard to sleep.”

He smiled at her confession. She’d made it so quietly. So haltingly. As if self-doubt were something to be ashamed of it.

“And now you’re laughing at me.”

“No,” he said. “No. But you’re not the only one who suffers from a lack of certainty. I have moments of self-doubt myself on occasion.”

“Yes, but at my age—”

“At your age? You’re eight and twenty, not eight and eighty. I’m years older than you and I still—”

“How many years?”

Tom stopped, midsentence, feeling his face heat. Was there no end to the blushes Jenny Holloway could wring out of him? “Three and thirty. I look older, I know. A consequence of my profession. You should see Fothergill.”

“Nonsense. You don’t look old at all.” She raised a hand to his face, her fingers brushing the edge of his hairline. “You’ve no trace of gray hair.”

He looked at her intently, holding his breath as the pads of her fingertips touched his temple, lingering just above the metal arm of his spectacles. It was the briefest contact. Seconds, merely. But it fired his blood and set his heart to racing.

She withdrew her hand, her face coloring in the light of the oil lamp. “Forgive me, I—”

“Don’t apologize.”

“I feel foolish being so forward.”

“Don’t,” he said again, his voice gone gruff. “Everything you do is pleasing to me.”

Her expression softened. “Oh, Tom. You say that now…”

The rest of her words were lost in the shrill whistle of the train. It slowed as it approached the next station, the shriek of the engine and the screeching brakes piercing the darkness.

A guard shouted: “Dijon! Dix minutes d’arrét!”

Jenny sat forward in her seat, the thread of their conversation seemingly forgotten. “Ten minutes? That’s not very much time.”

“No.” But it was more than had been allotted at the last stop. There, they’d only been given six minutes to disembark and avail themselves of the buffet. Several of the passengers hadn’t completed their business fast enough. Tom had seen them running alongside the train, shouting and cursing as it departed the station without them.

“Can we get out?” Jenny looked hopeful.

“That depends. Are you very hungry?”

“Famished.”

“Then yes. But you have to stay close to me. We don’t want the train to leave with only one of us on board.”

“No, indeed.” She retrieved her hat, securing it on her head with a dangerous-looking hatpin.

Tom glanced out the window at the smoke-engulfed platform. It was too late for dinner and not early enough for breakfast. Nevertheless, when they disembarked, it was to find the railway refreshment room fully stocked. Two very tired-looking ladies worked behind the counter, doling out comestibles to the equally tired passengers. For six francs, Jenny purchased two baskets, each containing a cold meal of breads, meats, and cheeses. Another two francs bought a bottle of burgundy wine.

Tom’s efforts to pay for their food and drink were politely—and rather firmly—rebuffed. Under other circumstances, he might have been offended. But Jenny was determined to embrace her newfound independence. He wouldn’t begrudge her the privilege.

“I won’t be beholden to you,” she said. “It will only confuse things between us.”

“At least allow me to carry this for you.” He lifted the second basket of food from her arms.