I walked with soft feet to where I could see him clearly and he could see me. But he didn’t look up. He knew I was there.
At the age of thirteen, I had never experienced such a penetrating heartbreak. Never had I considered how such a thing might feel, or how it might come to be. It struck me that if heartbreak were to be personified, it would be this boy in front of me. Knees tucked to his chest, head stooped, shoulders quaking, eyes closed against the world.
I had absolutely no idea of what to do. Of all the moments in the past year I had envisioned our first meeting of the summer, I had not considered this. Not one bit. Nicholas was the strong one, the brave one, the smiling face and the even countenance. He always had been. I had been the one to show the things I felt, embarrassingly so.
Looking at him now, it seemed that even the strong ones felt deeply, perhaps even more.
And here I was, being weak and afraid.
Filling the final three steps, I moved to his other side and sat down, several inches away, never letting my gaze stray from his face—the half that wasn’t hidden from me. Nicholas was silent, just a remnant of the crying I had heard when he had thought he was alone. Several minutes passed before he turned his head toward me. His eyes were wet but his cheeks were dry, flushed with red. His brows tipped downward, not in the playful quirk I had come to know. The creases of laughter were replaced with lines of sorrow—lines that were much too deep to have been molded in this moment alone. He had grieved before. His father had died when he was very young.
“Good morning,” I sputtered. My cheeks immediately burned. “I am sorry. It cannot be a good morning. I didn’t intend to suggest that a morning filled with such devastation might be a good one.”
He was still looking at me, the golden flecks in his eyes blended with the brown, the thick lashes wet and dark. It felt as if it had been many years since I had seen him, not just twelve long, boring months.
“I am very sorry to hear of the passing of dear Ginger. If ever I were charged to name my favorite horse, it would be Ginger. It would require little consideration. None at all, in fact.”
A shadow of a smile twitched the corners of his eyes, but it was brief.
“I did not know him well, but I know that he must have been quite special.” Why was I still sputtering on like a ninny? Surely I was capable of speaking with more eloquence. I pulled my knees to my chest so I could hide my face in my skirts if I needed to.
“Did you love him?” I asked.
He glanced at me, as if the answer were obvious, like it was something I should have known. But I wondered—more in that moment than ever—that if Nicholas could love a silly old horse, then maybe he could love me too.
One side of his mouth was smiling now, just a pinching at the corner. “I did.” His voice sent a shiver of familiarity over my shoulder blades, marred by a touch of sorrow that wasn’t familiar at all. “Do you remember when my Papa came home from the continent with two new horses?”
I nodded.
“He gave Ginger to me as a gift. He taught me to take care of the horse, to take him as my responsibility. I had never been trusted with such a thing before. Papa was proud of how I trained him and looked after him.” There was a faraway look in Nicholas’s face, a wistful longing that rattled my core. “When Papa fell ill I took Ginger on longer rides, I brushed him for hours, I never left him alone, because I wasn’t allowed to see Papa for the chance that I would catch the fever too.” His words were fading. “Ginger was my last piece of him.”
It ached and ached to see the hurt in his every motion, every word. I waited, thinking long and hard about my reply. Finally I said, “I suppose the reason God has taken Ginger back is so your papa may now have a piece of you to keep near.”
Nicholas met my eyes, a sort of wonder and awe in them. He swallowed, and ever so slowly, a faint grin pulled at his mouth. “You’re a wise one, little Lucy.”
I tried not to grin too much. I couldn’t have him thinking that I appreciated being called Little Lucy. But his endearment sent a warmth flooding my chest, like drinking a cup of chocolate in the early hours when the fire hasn’t yet been lit.
“Thank you.”
Embarrassed, I brushed my hair away from my eyes and shrugged.
Then came that warmth again, rolling, building, catching fire. I looked down, grateful for the rush of the coming wind to drown out my pounding heart.
He breathed out the last of his tears and put on a smile I hoped would stay forever. “Welcome home, Lucy.”
EIGHT
There were three things I had learned about the new Nicholas Bancroft. Firstly, he laughed more than the average man, and often at my expense. Secondly, he held his secrets as weapons, preparing to surprise me with them at any moment. Lastly, he held his smiles the same, tossing them at my heart like pebbles at the ocean, easy, light, but with enough force to break through the surface.
We stood outside a nearby coaching inn, one that Nicholas had claimed received mail at this hour. The three-mile walk had been filled with dust and heat and more of those uncalled-for smiles. Given the daylight, Nicholas had agreed to travel with me by mail coach, keeping Jack in the capable hands of the innkeeper, the cost of which he would pay the innkeeper upon retrieving his horse after I was safe at Rosewood. I chewed my lip and wiped the sweat from my brow as I surveyed the area. There was not a coach in sight. I tugged my hat down farther on my head to shade my face.
“I am sincerely sorry, Lucy. I presumed that it was you that possessed the expertise on the topic of mail coaches and their time tables.” Something in his eye told me he was indeed sorry, but still not sincerely so.
He looked down at me with one of those smiles, right at the moment I wished to give him a thorough scolding.
“I was certain that you and your dear highwaymen friends might have traversed these roads on some occasion and would know when to expect the coach.” I eyed him with a frown.
He turned toward me, a dark shadow looming between me and the sun. “You are mistaken about them being my friends. They are far from earning such an endearment from me.”
“If that is so, then … why were you involved with them?”
Nicholas crossed his arms. “It is a long story. And I am not certain you will understand.”
I drew a breath, fighting the frustration building inside me. “I can assure you, I am capable of understanding the English language. And since we have missed the coach, we have plenty of time in which you can tell me this ‘long story.’”
He simply shook his head—a faint but firm movement. There would be no swaying his resolve. At least not today. I squinted at him through the sun. “Very well. What shall we do now? It could be hours before we find passage onward.”
“You were correct on one matter. I do know these roads well. There is a village up the road one mile.” He met my eyes and his lips twisted in a grin. “You enjoy perusing the shelves of shops, I gather.”
He was right. But for an odd reason I didn’t want to venture to these unknown shops today. I missed the quaint millinery shop of Mr. Connor. A cloud crossed the sky and the brightness faded to gray. For a moment I was reminded of home. Craster. What were Mama and Papa thinking at this instant? Surely they were not thinking that I had been through such an ordeal. I had written Kitty that I would be arriving in two days, on the twenty-fifth. Such an accomplishment seemed impossible now. My body ached with the walking and the rooftop seats on the coaches. My mind was weary. Under the gray sky in this unknown town, it felt very much like the depressed hours I had lain in bed at home, wondering if I would ever again see the sun. Emotion clenched my throat so hard I could barely breathe.
Nicholas must have seen the depth of my thoughts in my expression because he moved toward me, looking down at me with concern. It only took one look. My lip quivered, my chin wobbled. I begged myself not to cry. But I was so far from home and so far from my new destination. Torn between two places, my heart ached. All I could do was cry to the
person that had always held it.
But I turned my face away, pressing my hands over my eyes so Nicholas wouldn’t see how weak I truly was. Only a few seconds passed before I felt Nicholas’s hands on mine, pulling them away so he could see my face. Perhaps he wanted to tease me for crying. He hadn’t seen me cry since I was fourteen. Even so, his administrations were the same.
His eyes were filled with worry, but his mouth gave a soft smile. His fingers caught the tears before they could fall far, and when my cheeks were dry he pressed his thumb to my chin to stop the wobbling. My skin tingled where he touched. I was utterly embarrassed and comforted at the same time. Utterly confused.
“What is the matter?” His voice was gentle, and it unraveled my emotions all over again.
I choked on a quiet sob. “This has been the strangest week of my life.” I looked up at him through a thick layer of tears, squinting to keep them in. Nicholas looked distorted through my teary lens, the top half of his head narrow and the bottom half wide and long. His head was shaped very much like a pear fruit. I erupted in choked laughter, blinking to see him clearly.
He stepped back, one hand on the back of his neck, eyes wide with concern and a bit of fear. His head had returned to a normal shape, but the image was stuck in my mind. And so the laughter continued.
“What is it?”
I shook my head as my giggles faded, wiping my cheeks free of moisture. “My spirits have been much revived.”
He raised one eyebrow and made a sound that was half relief and half surprise. “You are a strange little gir—woman, Lucy.” He seemed confused at his own words.
I looked down at my boots, resting my forehead in my hand. My smile refused to slacken. He was correct; I was strange—in every sense of the word. When I composed myself enough to glance up again, Nicholas was still watching me, this time with a solemn expression, one of deep study. I caught a look of awe, of quiet admiration in his eyes that surprised me. I wondered if I had only imagined it.
“Since you have recovered from that … extensive emotional display, shall we take the remainder of the walk to the village? By late afternoon we may travel back to this location and will be much more likely to catch the coach at a later hour.” He flashed a smile, trying to convince me with his eyes. “What say you, Mrs. Bancroft?”
I gave him my most unimpressed look, swiping the moisture from under my nose with a sniff. “I should hope that you are not using that name as a way to win my favor. It will cause quite the opposite.”
He dropped his head against a smile. “I’m disappointed.”
“As you should be. After all, if I were married to you, I would much prefer to be called simply ‘Lucy.’ Perhaps ‘my dear’ or ‘love’ every so often. ‘Mrs. Bancroft’ is much too formal.” I bit my lip before I could continue. What was wrong with me? My cheeks surged in heat. I was spilling all my dreams out for him to see. Someone needed to sew my lips shut.
Nicholas was not speechless like I expected. In fact, he had plenty of speech. “Very well, Lucy. Take my arm and we shall take a walk to the village.” He took my hand, wrapping it over his elbow. “Are you cold, love? I should hate for my dear Lucy to be uncomfortable in the slightest.” His eyes turned down to mine, hiding a smile. “Are you quite comfortable, my dear?”
I looked straight ahead, pulling my lips tight. But Nicholas saw the grin. “I change my mind. ‘Mrs. Bancroft’ will suit me just fine.”
He chuckled and moved closer, guiding my hand to curve tighter around his arm. I didn’t dare look up at him, knowing how close his face would be to mine. “I agree, the name does suit you well.” There was an edge to his voice, a teasing that stabbed at my heart. He would never seriously consider courting me. This would never be genuine. There would never be a real chance to be called Mrs. Bancroft by strangers and love by Nicholas. It hurt. But I couldn’t let him see that. And I hated that it hurt. He was a dangerous, wicked man for all I knew.
I smiled instead. “But I do believe ‘Miss Abbot’ suits me the very best.”
When no response came, I stole a glance at the side of his face. He was staring straight ahead. His jaw tightened, but he put on a smile before I could wonder what it meant.
The village was in sight before long, and I marveled at the quaint beauty of all the shops and the width of the streets. The heart of Craster was half the size of this, with a much more lowly and broken population.
As we walked down the path toward the first of the shops, I watched in masked envy as women passed in fine clothing and wide bonnets. I felt like a character from a novel, taking hold of adventure with a handsome man at my side. Despite every reason not to, I felt safe and secure with Nicholas. I would make it to Rosewood. I would be happy.
“Where shall my notes and coins find themselves first?” Nicholas held up a small leather purse, dangling it in front of me.
Surely he was only jesting. “Money should not be spent on frivolous things,” I said as my eyes strayed to the millinery.
He slowed his pace. “Hmm. Do I recall correctly an extravagant hat adorning your head?”
I touched the brim of my hat. “I did not purchase it,” I said in a quiet voice, leaving out the fact that I had intended to purchase it. “The milliner in Craster is a dear friend of mine and, much to my surprise, he offered the hat to me, free of charge. It is a gift I will never forget. After all, it is the only possession I managed to keep from the highwaymen.”
I expected Nicholas to laugh at me, but he looked down at me with that same expression I had been trying to decipher—the mix of curiosity and something I couldn’t name. “I am very sorry you lost your trunk.”
“It is not your fault. Not entirely, at least.” I bit my lip.
His jaw tightened again, and frustration pulsed in his eyes. He wasn’t looking at me, and I thought I felt a distance growing between us, all in a matter of seconds. “It is. You lost much last night. You must have been very afraid. I should not have led those men to you. I—I do not know what I was thinking.” He was almost mumbling to himself now, anger strung between every word.
I stopped walking. “What do you mean when you say you … led them to me?”
We stood in front of an alley that divided a bakery and cordwainer’s. An outcropping from the bakery shaded us, and I shivered against the darkness of the alley and the drop in temperature from the shade.
Nicholas pulled his elbow away from my hand, rubbing one side of his face. “I am not a noble person. I am not honorable.” His eyes were cast down, the lashes crumpled when he squeezed his eyes shut.
My immediate reaction was to comfort him, to contradict him somehow. But chills tingled over my arms and the back of my neck. I needed to hear more. I reached forward and touched his arm. Nicholas’s eyes opened, a flash of anguish that surprised me. What was he hiding? I wished I could see it there behind his eyes, but all I saw were shades of brown and secrets. From where I stood, Nicholas was split between dark and light, the light touching just one side. I wondered if his soul was the same.
“Tell me. Please,” I said. My heart pounded with anticipation—with dread.
He gave a sad smile. “I mean precisely that. I led them to you. I led them to the wealthy woman in the hat from the inn. I had no idea it would be … Lucy Abbot.”
“Why?”
He dropped his gaze again, as if he couldn’t bear to look at me or at the disapproval in my eyes. “I don’t know.”
But he knew. He simply didn’t wish to tell me. I wanted to be upset and hide away my heart, but something told me that was precisely what Nicholas needed. He needed a little more heart. He needed to see sense. If there was anything I knew to be true in the world it was that Nicholas Bancroft was indeed a good person. Perhaps the good had only been hidden beneath these secrets and burdens that he carried all these years. Determination flooded through me as I watched his downtrodden features. I would find a way to learn the truth. I would find a way to change him for the better. Surely I wasn’t qu
alified or invited to do so, but I certainly needed to try.
“When you do know, please inform me,” I said. “I wish to help you.”
Nicholas seemed even more frustrated at this. He looked down at me as if I were an unfamiliar creature sitting on his shoe that he desired most fiercely to flick away. My logic was strange, but the look in his eyes could not lie.
“It may be best if I ordered a carriage for you.” Nicholas spoke in a firm voice. “We could hire a companion to accompany you to your destination.”
My heart sunk in my chest and my throat was dry. He did not want me. “I cannot ask you to withdraw such an expense,” I choked.
“But it would make everything much simpler for me. And less dangerous for you.” He was leaned against the brick of the bakery now, falling more deeply into the shadow of the alley. People passed on the opposite side of the road, glancing with a lazy eye in our direction before moving on.
“I know you cannot afford the expense, Nicholas.” My voice was getting softer. It had been just a day and I already dreaded letting him leave. “Why is it so unreasonable that I might be able to help you?”
There was a fire in his expression I had only seen once before. It shocked me and made me take a step back. His face fell in regret and he filled the space I had made. “Lucy …” “I am not afraid of you,” I blurted. “If that is what you think, I will say it again; I am not afraid of you. I am not afraid to tell you that I don’t approve of you being a highwayman, but I am also not afraid to tell you that there is an unsteadiness in your character that I am indeed afraid of. I cannot trust you completely. And I despise secrets.” My chin lifted higher and my cheeks flushed.
Nicholas’s chest rose with a breath, his face tightening with emotion. He opened his mouth to speak, but I stopped him.
“You may find me at the millinery when you have ‘calmed your nerves.’”
Then I turned and marched away, as quickly and with as much dignity I could muster on my small legs. My curls bounced as I walked, and I wished my hair had a softer wave like my sister’s. Rachel’s hair never bounced, affording her a much more sophisticated walk. Hair like mine couldn’t help but bounce.
Road to Rosewood Page 8
