Page 73 of A Lady’s Guide to Mystery and Mischief

“You don’t mean that,” she said with an uncertain laugh.

“Of course I do,” he said. “If you need help, then I’m here to help. Whatever you need.”

She shook her head. “No, it’s all right. I only—I want to tell him that our understanding is—well, over.”

Grey’s heart dropped, his blood turning to ice in his veins. “You—what?”

“Are you really so surprised?” she asked with incredulity. “You’re the reason I’m doing it.”

The ice was quickly, instantly replaced by sheer, unadulterated hope. This couldn’t be happening, not to him. He blinked at her, speechless.

Farah dipped her chin. “What you said before, about all the things I deserve—I realized how much I’d put aside in favor of finally getting married.” She tucked a lock of wayward hair behind her ear, the movement somewhat sheepish. “Don’t misunderstand me. I’m not saying you owe me anything or that I intend to drag you to the altar in Francis’s place.”

The flicker of hope in him disappeared, his body once again cold. Still, he thought, this was progress. Maybe he didn’t have to live in perpetual heartbreak, maybe—

“I have the thousand pounds.”

This time, words did come to him. “I beg your pardon?”

“Oh!” Farah waved a hand in front of her, cheeks reddening. “Not the thousand pounds. I just—I can replace the money that was stolen. That’s what I meant to say.”

“Where did it come from?”

“My aunt,” she told him. “On the condition that I do the right thing which, I think—” She held the wrinkled paper up. “—is this.”

Ah, yes, the right thing. Dalia had promised him that Farah would do as much.

Neither of them said anything then, the only discernible sound that of the crickets that undoubtedly lived in droves around Northborough.

“I think I lost my way trying to make the best of things,” she whispered.

She had said that before, that she always made the best of things if she was able.

“Why?”

“Why?” she echoed.

“Why try so hard to make the best of things? You can’t always twist yourself into knots trying to make good from bad or good from nothing.”

Farah nibbled at her lip, her brow knit in contemplation. “If I stopped, then everything would just be mundane, wouldn’t it?”

“Not everything,” Grey said. “Some things, yes. But not everything.”

“Do you wish you—I don’t know how to say this.”

“I do,” he answered, knowing what she’d wanted to ask based on instinct alone. “I do wish I’d tried to make something more of my life after my grandfather died. We—” A dry chuckle fell from his lips. “We’re true opposites, you and I. You tend to do too much, and I tend to do too little. I’d wager we’d be better off meeting in the middle.”

“We’re a fine pair, aren’t we?” She beamed at him for a beat, but her smile faded as quickly as it had bloomed. “I thought working twice as hard, making the best of things—I thought it would send at least send a shred of happiness my way.”

“And if you let yourself be?” he questioned. “What would happen then?”

“I suppose we’ll be finding out,” she said. “Won’t we?”

“What do you intend to do?”

Farah tore her gaze from his, eyes wandering over Northborough. “Return home, for one.”

“And after that?”