Page 7 of A Modest Independence

He schooled his features. She was right. He had no reason at all to be jealous. She wasn’t his sweetheart. He had no claim on her at all. She was only a friend.

An exceptionally lovely friend, the sight of whom made his heart beat faster. Made his palms damp and his mouth dry.

It was that dratted auburn hair of hers. Thick and gleaming, coiled up in plaits at the base of her neck. The strands were more red than brown. Almost flaming in their vibrancy.

He wondered what it looked like unbound.

“I assure you,” she said, “it’s quite unexceptionable.”

What?

It took him a moment to regain the thread of their conversation. He cleared his throat. “No. I suppose not. You’re related, aren’t you?”

“After a fashion.” She paused before explaining, “My maternal grandmother was a very distant cousin of Helena and Giles’s grandmother. It’s not much in the way of aristocratic pedigrees. Barely enough to persuade Helena’s father to take me on as her companion. But he did. I was with her for a very long while and, consequently, I—”

“You came to know her brother.”

A flush of color rose in her cheeks. “Yes.”

Tom’s senses flickered a warning. “How well did you know him?”

“Well enough.” She extended the letter to him. “This was the last time he ever wrote to me.”

He took it from her hand. “May I?”

“Please do.”

He smoothed out the creases of the letter on his desk. It looked as if it had been balled up at some point. Crumpled and thrown into a dustbin, perhaps. It wasn’t the first such letter Tom had encountered in this condition. The sort rescued from a fireplace grate before the secrets within could be incinerated.

“I apologize for the state of it,” Miss Holloway said.

He glanced up at her from behind his spectacles. The blush in her cheeks had darkened. The sight of it made his chest tighten. Had there been something between Miss Holloway and Lady Helena’s brother? “I’ve seen worse,” he said.

At that, he bent his head and began to read.

My Dear Jenny,

I trust you’re keeping yourself out of trouble. I’ve had a letter from Helena lately, but nothing from you since Michaelmas. You’re not still angry with me, are you? There’s only so many times a fellow can apologize.

If you were anyone else, I suppose you would have written by now, pleading with me to come home and propose or some such rot. But you’ve always been more sensible than that. You know I have no desire to marry and set up my nursery. I never have. Besides, it didn’t mean anything. You and I are friends, that’s all.

It’s beastly hot here at the moment. The lads and I have taken to swimming in the river in the evenings. Afterward, we lie out on the bank and look up at the stars. You never saw so many. They make one feel quite small and unimportant. A man could lose himself amongst so much nature and humanity.

There was a fellow at the bazaar last week selling Kashmiri shawls. I bought one for you. It’s the exact colors of the spices they use to season our food. Orange and yellow and brown. They look quite dull until you taste them, and then they fair burn the roof of your mouth off.

I shan’t be able to replicate any of this at home. Only a fool would try. And despite my past behavior (for which I again most humbly beg your pardon), you know I’m no fool.

Quelling this rebellion is brutal and bloody, yet there are days I pray my duties will never end. I don’t miss the rain and fog one jot. A man can breathe here. Can really feel alive. It’s all colors and flavors and heat. The natives are quite good chaps, as well. One can’t help but sympathize.

I must sign off now. Please take care of my sister. And take care of yourself. You deserve better than a fellow like me.

Fond regards,

Giles

Tom lifted his gaze back to Miss Holloway’s face. He felt slightly queasy. “What is it that he was apologizing for?”

Miss Holloway’s chin lifted a notch, even as her blush deepened to scarlet. “He kissed me.”