Page 82 of A Lady’s Guide to Mystery and Mischief

A nasty voice in her head piped up to say Forget knowing nothing of love. What do you know of friendship?

She would fix things. She had to.

“I have to retrace her steps,” she decided, clutching the letter to her chest. “I know the way from London to Gloucestershire. I know what inns she’d have stopped at. I have to check.”

“I’ll come with you,” Grey said. In the short silence that followed, he cleared his throat. “I intended to return to London either way.”

“As were we,” Kalila announced, an unidentifiable flicker in her eyes.

Dameer sniffed, his bitterness palpable. “Oh, yes, go ahead and abandon me.”

Kalila glanced at the crutches that had been propped against Dameer’s chair. “You’ve a broken leg, Dameer. You need your rest.”

“Though my offer to carry you still stands,” Oliver said with a pleasant sort of calm.

Dameer sighed. “Never mind. I think I could use a break from you lot, anyway.”

“I’ll be back,” Farah promised, even as the statement broke her heart. She turned to each of the table’s occupants in turn. “I’ve broken my understanding with Francis.”

On a different day, she might have found their shock hilarious. The letter in her hand, however, dampened the effect.

“Thank God,” Dameer muttered.

“So,” Farah continued with a pointed glare in his direction, “I shall be returning to Painswick and staying until further notice.”

Oliver nodded. “Good for you.”

Beneath the table, Farah felt Kalila’s hand cover hers. Farah gave it a grateful squeeze, which her cousin returned.

“Mr. Montgomery,” Kalila said, suddenly all business, “I assume you will not mind sharing a carriage with Oliver. I should like to travel with my cousin.”

Grey appeared somewhat crestfallen by the request. “Not at all.”

“I’ll see you when you return,” Dameer told Farah. “You’ll probably find me in bed. Convalescing.”

“Are you sure, Dameer?” Oliver scooted his chair back and stood up. “Maybe she’ll find you scaling another tree in a renewed attempt to woo your lady lov—”

Grabbing hold of his crutches, Dameer hopped to his feet. “Shut up, Oliver.”

Farah watched as her family made a beeline toward the house, with Kalila calling over her shoulder to reconvene in thirty minutes. Grey remained motionless next to her, and she swore she could feel the heat of his body over that of the sun shining down on them.

“You wrote Francis,” Grey said. It wasn’t a question, but rather a statement.

“I did,” Farah replied, facing him once everyone had disappeared through Northborough’s doors. “I didn’t explain very much, just told him of my decision. I’m sure he won’t mind.”

Grey’s brow knit for a fleeting moment. “And you—you’ll be fine? Here in Painswick, I mean.”

“Of course I’ll be fine.” Farah gave him a wide grin. “I was fine before, and I’ll be fine now. Like I said, I have much to think on.”

“Right. Yes.”

Desperate to avoid any awkward silences, Farah said, “I hope they weren’t too much trouble.”

“Not at all. They’re all very fond of one another. It’s strange.”

“Well,” Farah said, beginning to walk, “they’re fond of you, too. I can tell.”

As am I.