Page 20

Benedict glanced at Lizzie who was tucking into her stew. “I’m not much of a one for dreams,” she said mildly. “As for my hands, they’re toughening up by the day.”

He laughed. He had to give it to her, she had plenty of self-possession. Betsy would have fallen apart at the seams confronted by a malevolent old hag like Ma. Realizing his brothers were looking at him curiously, he cleared his throat and held out his bowl for a refill. “How about another drink,” he suggested.

Maggie’s disappearance was glossed over, and the rest of the meal passed without too much friction. When they finally took their leave, Lizzie rose with a murmured thanks and goodnight and they started toward their own wagon.

“Well?” he asked, breaking the silence when they were out of earshot of his family.

“I’m not sure they knew what to make of me,” she admitted, pulling her shawl tight about her shoulders.

Her reply surprised him. “And what about you? What did you make of them?” he asked, realizing he actually wanted to know.

She was quiet a moment. “I’m not sure,” she prevaricated. “It’s difficult to get a full picture from just one meal,” she said hesitantly. “It feels incomplete.” At his mocking look, she grew defensive. “After all, you could scarcely have formed much of an opinion on me after dining at Sitwell Place a mere handful of times.”

“Oh, couldn’t I?” he replied dryly and saw her bristle. They walked in silence a moment.

“I collect,” she said after a moment’s silent walking. “By your tone, that you did not form a good impression of me, Mr. Toomes.”

He shrugged. “You made your own feelings about my presence at your table plain by your every disapproving feature, Mrs. Toomes.”

He heard her breathe noisily in and out. “I wonder, then, that you even – ” Whatever she had been about to say, she bit off, clearly thinking the better of voicing it. “That is to say, your grandmother may have had a very salient point,” she said instead bitterly.

It was his turn now to catch his breath. He came to an abrupt halt, seizing her arm and swinging her about to face him. “What did you say?”

Lizzie glared up at him. “Betsy has a vastly pretty face,” she panted. “But if you had set her down on a packing case to eat her supper in the middle of a field, she would have burst into tears and we both know it!”

He stared down at her, her flashing eyes, pink cheeks, and the heaving bosom that even her drab dress could not conceal. “Well then, it’s a damned good job I didn’t marry Betsy, isn’t it?” he pointed out crisply.

“Some might think so!” she flung at him, and he marveled that she could have so little notion of self-preservation.

Maybe it was high time that someone taught Miss Lizzie Anderson – nay, his wife, he amended silently, a cautionary lesson. It seemed one was long overdue. He released her arm only to seize her roughly about the waist and drag her up bodily against him. She huffed and exclaimed but was too stiff with shock to put up much of a struggle.

“What are you – ” His mouth put an abrupt stop to her words. Her indignant squawk was muffled as he explored the shape and taste of those pert lips, which ought to taste tart, but were instead cool and sweet, drawing a low rumble of pleasure from him.

As his one hand tightened at her trim waist, the other slid into the silky pale hair at the nape of her neck, urging her closer still, as his tongue slid into her gasping mouth. The blood pounded in his ears when Lizzie grew pliant in his arms, and he forgot that he was supposed to be teaching her anything other than how to kiss so you forgot where you were.

A cough behind them in the darkness brought him back to earth with a bump. Lizzie gave such a violent start; it was as well he had a firm hold of her. “Who’s there?” he asked gruffly, peering into the shadows .

“It’s me,” his brother Jack held up a lantern. “I came after you – thought you might need a light to see your way.”

Benedict cleared his throat, though he did not let go of Lizzie who was attempting to set herself to rights. With reluctance, he gave her the space, but seized hold of her hand instead, anchoring her to his side. “Good of you,” he growled, anything but thankful.

Jack nodded and came alongside them, though he did not meet Ben’s accusing gaze. “I – er – thought I’d better tell you about Maggie leaving,” he said. “Frank doesn’t like to talk of it.”

Ben was silent a moment. “What happened?” he asked.

Jack shrugged. “Just one of those things. She got quiet and discontented and withdrew more and more each day. Bartholomew Fair it happened, last August.” Jack hesitated. “Pa joined us for a few days with his new doxy and Daphne.” Ben stiffened and Jack plunged on. “A loud-mouthed piece she was, and none of us liked her. Maggie was barely talking to any of us by that point. The third and final day, she just slipped away and disappeared into the night.”

Ben grunted. “She leave any word where she was going?”

“Nope,” Jack said scratching the back of his neck. “I tell you, you could scarce get a word out of her. Even me. Frank was devastated, Ben; it really rocked him. He wasn’t expecting her to walk out on him, however bad things had got between them. Pa tried to tell him to snap out of it and he’d find another woman in the next town, and Frank sent him sprawling, told him to get out of his sight and that he never wanted to see him again. Ma had to get between them, and Pa took off with his tail betwixt his legs after that.”

Slightly mollified by the idea of Frank knocking down their father, Benedict unbent and the three of them started walking again in the direction of their wagon. “She ever get in touch after that?” Benedict prompted.

“She wrote to him two months after that at Weyhill. Said she wasn’t coming back, and he wasn’t to try and find her.” Jack pulled a face. “Poor old Frank hasn’t really bounced back from it all.” Ben said nothing. “It wasn’t Frank’s fault, Ben,” Jack insisted. “It wasn’t like it was with Pa and our own mother.”

“Oh, wasn’t it?” he asked dryly. “So, Maggie wasn’t expected to cook and clean for all her husband’s family, as well as him? She didn’t have to put up with Ma day in, day out, scolding her and telling her she wasn’t good enough for a Toomes and never would be?”

Jack looked away. “You know that’s just the old girl’s way,” he muttered.