Page 19 of Forgotten No More

And she was not open to being wooed, now or ever.

Therefore, luck had no place in her life. In fact, luck had been working against her since she’d discovered her dubious parentage. It was time she refocused on her search. While she enjoyed Harold’s company, it was not something she could fall into the habit of seeking. Their time together did not move her closer to her goal. Harold only put her in danger of discovery, which she could not afford.

“There really have not been that many.”

“What?”

The light had decreased the further they moved away from the open doors. “Women who have turned me away.”

He winked, telling her he played off her responses. The man was an expert at drawing her in, only to say something shocking, leaving her with the impression he jested but no real confirmation.

She ducked her head to hide her embarrassment at losing their conversation to her own musings. “That’s good to hear.”

They fell into silence as they descended the steps and continued walking. The night air, infused with the smell of flowers and citrus, washed over her. She could not think of a better feeling. They continued in a companionable quiet, both lost in their own thoughts.

Ruby was silent as they walked into the garden.

Harold was hesitant to intrude on her thoughts. Her face was at peace, not a hint of nervousness. It also gave him a chance to take her in: the tilt of her chin, her sureness of foot, and the hint of lines about her eyes and mouth. He knew them to be from laughing; how he wished he could see her smile and her eyes brighten at something he said or did.

But she always seemed guarded in his presence.

At present, however, he was content to walk beside her. No bickering, no snide remarks, and no cryptic words. They were only two people, walking amongst the fragrant flowers of an immense garden haven. He searched for something witty to say—anything to draw her attention, vanquish her troubles, and bring a smile to her lips.

As they continued down the path, he watched her touch flowers as she passed them, her fingertips grazing their petals, careful not to disturb them as she admired their silken texture. She stopped alongside a vibrant thicket of blue Canterbury bells, their blooms particularly bright. It was as if they’d spent their life within a hothouse, only to be brought outside for this special evening.

The shade matched Ruby’s cream and blue evening gown—and also the pocket square currently nestled in his own jacket pocket. He’d thought the square a gift from Brock, but now knew it was Vi’s attempt at subtle matchmaking.

He wondered if Ruby had noticed. He would ask, but feared her anxiousness would return and ruin the moment.

She leaned in ever so slightly to smell the blossoms, then continued down the path.

They rounded a bend and before them stood a clear, placid pond, with nary a ripple on its surface. The moon, high in the night sky, cast a glow upon the water that illuminated a small boat tied loosely to the dock.

Finally, Ruby looked up and when her eyes locked on the sight, she smiled.

“Do you remember the pond at the Haversham estate?” she asked.

“How could I forget,” Harold said, keeping his voice low. “Brock and I played pirates every chance we got.”

“Yes, I recall.” She turned a serious face to him. “I was forbidden to play because I was a girl and you both said women at sea were unlucky and would sink your ship.”

He would have laughed if her look was not so stern. “It’s true—ask any sailor.”

She returned her gaze to the water before them. “You know I watched you boys still.”

“I did not.”

“Oh, yes. I hid within the shrubs bordering the small lake and watched you and Brock play—sometimes for hours.”

Her words shocked him. “Why?”

“What else did I have to do?” Her smile returned. “I would imagine setting sail with you both on an adventure to the New World or India, leave England behind for a life of the unknown.” Her voice held a sadness that did not match her smile. If the lighting were better, he wondered if he’d see that her smile did not reach her eyes, either.

Harold looked to the small boat, judging its buoyancy. “It is not too late.”

“Whatever do you mean?” she asked.

“Sail with me,” he said as he took her hand. “We can leave now, if only for a few short minutes.”