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He let out a surprised laugh. It was on the tip of his tongue to state that she required spectacles. But he halted the words before they could find purchase; Mrs. Kitteridge had proved herself to be quite staunch in her defense of him, most especially when he talked badly of himself.
Which should not have warmed him so.
“I daresay,” she continued, not daunted in the least by his silence, “one of them would make a fine wife. They are all amiable girls. Do you see yourself able to care for any of them?”
“I am not looking to care for anyone, Mrs. Kitteridge,” he mumbled. He gripped the handle of his cane, rubbing his finger anxiously over the small bit of metal there, forcing himself to recall just why he insisted on sticking to that particular rule. As if he needed the reminder.
She blinked. “But surely it’s possible that you and your future wife might develop feelings for one another.”
“No.” The word came out harsh and sharp. Her jaw dropped and she drew back against the plush squabs. He silently cursed himself for his handling of the subject. But she must understand if they were to continue with this agreement that he was not searching for affection. In fact, he was actively hoping to avoid any chance of it.
When he continued, his voice was a great deal gentler, though no less firm. “I will happily consider any of the girls as a wife. Just as I happily consider Miss Pickering, or Miss Peacham, or Miss Denby, or any of the other young ladies I’ve met over the course of my short time here. But under no circumstance am I looking for love.”
She nodded, as if she understood all too well. There was too much knowing in her gaze, and panic reared in him, that she might see to the heart of the matter.
Desperate to distract her, he blurted, “You seem to know everyone on the Isle. Did you grow up here then?”
She blinked, no doubt surprised at his abrupt change in subject. But she quickly recovered. “Er, no. That is, the bulk of my time was spent at my father’s estate, just outside of Ampleforth. But after my grandfather passed, I spent my summers here, to be a comfort to Gran. She was despondent after he died. They were quite in love.”
It was an image he could not seem to come to terms with, the confident, gruff Lady Tesh as a young woman in love. His lips quirked. But then, she had not been born as she appeared now, like Athena, who sprang full grown from the forehead of Zeus.
His humor must have shown on his face, for she smiled. “I assure you, she and my grandfather were quite thoroughly in love. Why, the times I came across him whispering in her ear, making her blush something fierce.”
Suddenly her expression fell. “She missed him terribly when he passed. And, as my father had recently remarried, and my brother had just arrived, my father thought it best if I spent time with Gran.”
There seemed so much behind such a simple retelling, some hidden heartache buried deep. The ghost of it lurked in her soft brown eyes. “Tell me about your time here,” he said, hoping to direct her thoughts to happier ones.
He was rewarded with her soft smile. “It was like a dream. Gran refused to allow a moment of sadness to darken our time together. She made certain each day was filled with adventures and outings. And so our every waking moment was spent walking along the beach and hiking to the Elven Pools and drinking tea at the Beakhead. And then Lenora began to spend her summers here as well, after her own mother’s death, and she became my dearest friend. And, of course, there were my cousins, close to our age.” She laughed. “The mischief we got up to. Why, we fairly ran wild on the Isle.”
He was transfixed by the change in her. The way her face glowed with happiness as she told him about her childhood touched something deep inside him. He felt something loosen in his chest, like a pebble worked free of its rocky bed.
Just then the carriage rocked to a halt. He blinked, and the strange moment was gone. Thank goodness, he told himself firmly, ignoring the ache of loss deep in his chest.
The groom came around the side of the carriage and threw the door open wide. Mrs. Kitteridge smiled brightly at Daniel. “Here we are!” she chirped. Gathering her skirts, she moved toward the door. And nearly lost her balance as she tried to maneuver around his legs and cane.
Daniel reached out and gripped her arm to steady her. There was a jolt of heat, sizzling and sparking between them. He thought that if he looked at his hand, it must surely be aflame. They were so close he could smell the sweetness of the biscuits she had eaten at tea on her breath as it fanned his face, could see the faint gold flecks in her brown eyes as they widened. For one glorious moment he thought he saw a reflection of his own potent desire for her mirrored in her eyes.
Surely not, he thought as shock coursed through him. She could not possibly want him.
The groom held a hand out for her. Mrs. Kitteridge started and tore her gaze from his to look at the groom. “Thank you so much, Henry,” she murmured. Then, gently extricating her arm from Daniel’s grip, she placed her hand in the other man’s and descended the carriage step. Seeming to leave a great, gaping hole where she had been.
Chapter 7
Daniel took a moment to compose himself, closing his eyes and drawing in a shaky breath. For one mad moment he considered settling deeper into his seat and refusing to descend. Surely he could hide away in here for a good long while. Why, if he utilized his cane as a makeshift sword, he could fend off everyone indefinitely.
It was a tempting fantasy, to say the least. But not at all possible. And so, heaving a sigh, he descended from the carriage in his awkward, slow way. Taking the hamper of supplies from the groom, he turned and followed Mrs. Kitteridge. Both of them walked in silence, traversing a small path that dipped in a gentle slope toward the sea. The sound of waves was loud here, the sheer cliff on one side providing a bowl that trapped the sound. Suddenly the path curved a sharp left. And a flat terrain of rock and damp sand lay before them, a pool of water in its midst.
It was an oasis; that was the only word for it. Hugged by soaring cliffs on three sides, with hardy trees and brush clinging to it all like an evergreen tapestry, it was as private as one could imagine any natural space to be. Mrs. Kitteridge stopped where the path ended and stared up at it all, a look of dismay crossing her gentle features.
Mayhap she would suggest they turn back, he thought a bit desperately, determinedly ignoring the surge of disappointment in his chest. Clearing his throat, he queried quietly, “Is something amiss?”
“What?” She started, looking at him with wide eyes. “Ah, no, forgive me, Your Grace. It’s just that I haven’t visited this place for some time and had forgotten how…isolated it is.” A tremulous smile moved across her lips like a wave, coming in with a hush and quickly retreating. “But that is the point, isn’t it?” she asked, her voice gaining strength as she turned and made her way to the pool of water.
Pressing his lips tight, that same damn anticipation pounding through him as he eyed the full flare of her hips swaying beneath the violet of her gown, Daniel made his careful way behind her. A path of sorts had been created, though whether from centuries of feet pounding it flat or purposely carved he couldn’t tell. Regardless, it was an easy walk and quickly brought him to where Mrs. Kitteridge stood at the cliff face.
“You may change first,” she said, a riotous blush staining her cheeks, her eyes determinedly glued to his cravat. With a trembling finger she pointed to the cliff behind her.
He turned with grim determination, spying what he had not been able to see before: a small opening in the cliff face, a convenient dressing room created by Nature herself. Squaring his shoulders, he retrieved his bundle from the hamper and ducked inside.
