He lost all defenses in the gentleness of her expression. Her joy and inner glow opened an addictive interest for more. He couldn’t exactly put a name to the feeling, but it started with the scent of attraction and burned much deeper. Soul-deep. He smiled down at the paper in his hand, careful to guard it against the gentle breeze wafting up from the dell. “So, this is one of the letters you found yesterday?”
She slowed her pace to move in step with him. Her hair bounced a rhythm around her face and hung in waves down her back, begging for a sweep of his fingers. The tight hug of her jeans accentuated her curves in a distracting way. He grinned. If she could see what he saw, she’d never doubt herself again. Or perhaps it would frighten her all the way back across the Atlantic. She’d given no indication of affections beyond friendship. Her open personality and generous compassion made it difficult to suss out whether she was attracted to him or merely expressing her usual care. It was a peculiar quandary.
A toss of wind afforded him a double dose of her minty scent, sending him a step closer for another drink. Sweet. Oh yes. At the maze, she’d flung aside her apprehension and comforted him as his friend. His dear, sweet, wonderful friend with the hope of so much more. It was too much. Too good. And something he didn’t deserve.
“And there’s the painting, of course.” Her profile turned thoughtful.
“Would the glimmer in your eyes hint at more, pet?”
She liked the endearment. Every time he used it, she’d rake her top teeth over her bottom lip in a pleasantly embarrassed smile. Ace.
“You guessed it, handsome. I think Julia might be the artist behind all of the paintings, which makes her story even more interesting.” She nodded at the paper he held. “And the letter in your hand is from Edward Lattimer, when he broke off their engagement. There is another from Julia, evidently the one Edward returned with her miniature.” She creased her face in disgust. “Julia’s is simply beautiful—full of forgiveness—but Edward’s is pretty short.”
“Hmm.” He scanned over the note. “Would you have wanted to waffle on and on about the reasons for breaking an engagement?”
Her quirked lips tugged into a full-blown smile, with a one-shoulder shrug tagged on as an afterthought. “Why not? I waffle on and on about everything else.”
He was falling as hard as her creek scene, and the teasing glint in her eyes tempted him to nick a kiss out here in the middle of the fog-fingered daylight.
“Would you read the letter out loud while we walk?”
“Aloud? You want me to read the nasty heartbreak letter aloud?”
Her laughter settled in his heart like the perfect line. “It’s by a guy, a British guy at that.” She looked up at the sky and sighed. “And I just love to hear you read or talk. Either is lovely.”
Ah, another weakness? Reading he could do. He snatched the page from her, pinning on a mock glare and then cleared his throat, slowing his pace to keep from stumbling down the path.
“Miss Ramsden,
After thoughtful consideration of our differing dispositions and attitudes of mind, I have been persuaded to discontinue our engagement and return the miniature which thou bestowed unto me. I cannot—nay, will not—bend my convictions under the weight of my affections.
I am unwilling to recant the principles which claim credence of my soul and pray that thou wilt become like-minded, for fear of thy life. Julia, these are oppressive matters. If thou wilt not renounce thy convictions, and I cannot, then our affections meet an impasse.
May God keep thee safe and awaken thine heart to his truthe.
E. Lattimer
“He started out with the right intentions, but when trials came, he wasn’t cut out for it. It hit close to home, you know?” A struggle to maintain composure wrestled across her features. “But then I read Julia’s letter, and realized something. Not all guys are that way. Your dad, my dad, you.”
She resumed her walk. “I think maybe Julia’s forgiveness gave her freedom to open up her heart again, and I want to believe her mysterious husband was that second chance. The letter, or piece of a letter, passed through our family was written to Julia by a man who really loved her.” Her gaze came up to his and she worried that distracting lip of hers. “We’re only here for two more days before we go to your parents’ country house.”
“And?”
“I really want to find out who he was.”
The morning light filtered over her profile, a golden halo bathing her face and hair. There was longing and hope mingled in her voice. A need to know love was worth the risk. His father had been right again. Eisley needed someone to rescue her, and her heart was ready, even if she didn’t believe it.
“You have over a week left in England.” One week to change her heart from terrified to his. Patiently? Curious how God might work this one out. “Even if we’re not at Rose Hill, we can do research from Harrogate Park. Or drive back over if Lizzie needs you. It’s not far. An hour at most. I’ll do all I can to see you find your answers, pet.”
She tossed him another smile. “You are wonderful.” Her lips pinched closed as if she hadn’t meant to divulge that particular information. “A simply wonderful friend.” She looked ahead, face paled. Hmm, perhaps her sweetness wasn’t all indifferent friendliness after all. Brilliant.
“And thanks for helping me pick those gifts out for the kids last night. That remote-control dragon was phenomenal, and Nathan will never expect it.”
“Perhaps I should invest in duct tape for Emily?”
Her laugh bubbled toward him. “Duct tape? Now there’s an idea. Do you think it’d work?”
“How determined is she to disrobe?”
“As stubborn as her Mama, I’m afraid.” She smacked her hand over her eyes and almost lost her balance. “I…um...mean, she’s stubborn like me, not that I’m determined to disrobe.” She shook her head. “Ugh. I’m a nightmare,” she murmured, a crimson blush sweeping across her face.
He started to object to her self-deprecation, when without warning, she slapped her palm against his chest, stopping him in mid-stride. “Watch out! There’s a big hole there.”
“A hole?”
“It’s pretty deep, too.” She stepped to the left and nodded directly ahead at a three-foot depression in the ground. “I fell in it yesterday.”
“What?” He turned and took hold of her shoulders, turning her to face him. A quick inventory of her body—and her bewildered expression—didn’t indicate any injury. He softened his grip and enjoyed the view. Her navy jacket, cinched at her waist, brought added attention to all the ways God blessed her genes, and her ginger hair hung in windblown disarray around her shoulders. Fit. Lovely. His palms slid down her arms, tugging her a step closer. He ached to prove to her how wonderful she was; to cherish her, to skim the curve of her jaw with his lips, to taste the soft skin at the juncture of her ear and neck—and though the sweltering heat spiked desire, a deeper burn of protectiveness melded to his soul. A blistering passion to take care of this gift God offered him.
Did she feel it?
Her shallow breaths pulsed in answer. Surprise, and a touch of fear, winkled into her eyes, quieting his impulse. She beat herself up with her failures. Insecurities read a twisted script to her every day and pummeled her with doubts. But there was no denying the attraction. She swayed forward, her gaze flickering to his lips and back to his eyes, almost dazed. Was she even aware of it? His chest expanded with a relieved sigh and then he set to work forming his strategy. He could show her all the reasons why opening her heart was a fantastic idea, starting with a kiss to leave her gobsmacked, but that wasn’t what she needed, was it?
She needed to trust herself to make the first move. He relaxed his touch on her shoulders. Give her time; gentleness. The Holy Spirit breathed calm over him. He stepped back. “Were you hurt?”
She blinked out of her stare and took a full ten seconds to answer. He was getting to her.
“Um…nope, just clumsy.” She made a slow, me
smerized turn and continued her walk to the back kitchen door of the manor house.
Lizzie answered on the first knock, shadows beneath her pale brown eyes. She ushered them inside, voice crushed in a whisper. “Father arrived from the evaluation in bad spirits last evening. Attempting to get him back on his schedule has proved discouraging. He’s attempted to set fire to his room once already, so you’re on your own today. The nurse should arrive tomorrow.” She gestured toward the counter where another box sat.
“The new letter and painting are there. What a treasure, Eisley dear. Exactly what you’ve been hoping for, I’d wager.”
“I’m sorry, Lizzie. For your father—”
“No worries, dear. Two more weeks, then he’ll be removed to a more permanent facility where they can care for him much better than I can. It’s beyond me any longer.” A crash echoed through the hall followed by a string of profanities. Lizzie released a long-suffering sigh. “He’s never been one to control his temper and he’s going off about spies again.” Her gaze flitted to Wes. “The loft of the barn has some old rubbish you can explore, and perhaps check the garden house as well.” The sound of shattering glass burst from upstairs followed by a battle monologue. “Hurry along, for there’s no knowing what he might do.” She took a few steps toward the stairs and turned, a new twinkle in her eyes. “Oh, and have fun.”
***
Eisley relaxed in her chair, her stomach satisfied by the large supper, but her curiosity still craved more information. The morning’s treasure hunt didn’t unearth any new findings about Julia Ramdsen. However, it sparked all sorts of feelings about Wes.
She inched a glance over at his profile, studying him while he spoke to his mother. His Superman-wave fell over his forehead, bouncing a bit when he nodded his head. He’d been a sweet friend to her all day, sharing in intimate conversations, teasing or laughing with her. Each glimpse of this ‘new’ man tripped her deeper into a fall, directly into the intoxicating aroma of romance.
She grimaced. The undeniable connection at Chatsworth coupled with the tender look he’d given her that morning awakened a longing she desperately wanted to ignore but couldn’t.
She was an idiot.
“So, you discovered another piece of your little puzzle today, did you, my dear?” Daniel folded his hands and leaned forward.
Eisley pulled her rebel gaze from boring a stare into the side of Wes’s head. “Actually, Lizzie found it in the attic. Another portrait, which confirms Julia was an artist, and possibly the artist for all these paintings we’ve found so far. Then there was a torn letter, but I haven’t had a chance to study it much since we got back from our excursion in the Dales.” She propped her chin on her hands. “And then at the bottom of the metal box, we found strips of paper with Scripture written on each in old style. Julia’s era.” She looked at Mr. and Mrs. H’s encouraging faces. “Wanna see them?”
“Of course.” Daniel’s moustache twitched with his smile. “Gives us a bit of being a part of the adventure, doesn’t it?”
“You should have seen her at Lizzie’s, scouring the barn for clues.” Wes’s voice brought her head up. “She was like a little girl at Christmas.”
“Or rabid squirrel in autumn.” What had she looked like scampering from one place to the next? The endearing twinkle in his eyes stilled her reach for the metal box. Maybe she hadn’t looked as rabid-squirrely as she thought.
She shook her head. Daggone that man! Daggone her soft heart! God, will you help me be brave? Her fingers trembled as she opened the box. “It’s been amazing, the preservation of the paintings and the letters. Who would have thought it possible?”
She drew out the small painting first—another landscape, but not of the smooth hills of Derbyshire. Instead, the dangerous and breathtaking edges of cliffs stood as sentries against the crashing waves of the gray sea. A towering castle blended in with the rugged hillside, setting up a foreboding fortress and sending off all sorts of Bronte motifs.
“Neither Lizzie nor Wes could pinpoint where this was taken. See the bottom.” She gestured toward the bottom right corner. White words scratched against the canvas. Eskin Fel – J. Ramsden. “Any ideas?”
“Northern England has mountains known as Sca Fel and Sca Fel Pike,” Eleanor added. “The terrain reminds me of it. Some of my people are from that part of the world, and we holidayed there as children.”
“A possible geographic location?” Eisley bit her lip and studied the painting again. “There’s a starting place for more research, anyhow. I wonder what she was doing all the way up there and if it had anything to do with her rescuer.”
“The accompanying letter might give you a hint, pet.”
That nickname Wes used flowed through her like melted chocolate. Sweet…and leaving a wonderful warmth. Oh, how she loved chocolate.
Eleanor tapped her lip. “Please, Eisley dear, would you read it to us?”
“Sure, but it’s only half a letter.” Eisley’s throat tightened as she smoothed back the fragile paper and began to read.
Should your sight fail thee or your thoughts waver, do not discount the truthe in thine heart. We have persevered to this point, we shall not fail now. I will not have thy father destroy thy hope nor thy future. There is no place within all Britannia from which I will not rescue thee, my love.
Until I come, find thy courage. Hold fast to hope in Providence. Mine affections do not waver, nor dost mine purpose.
I will come for you.
My heart is in thine hands.
G. MacLeroy
“How beautiful,” Eleanor whispered into the reverent silence.
“Sounds to me like he loved her,” Eisley said, the careful guard to all her fears slamming against the words on the page. Oh, to know such a human love as this!
She read over the elegant calligraphic words again. My heart is in thine hands. She breathed in the sweetness of it. What kind of man even feels something like that, let alone writes it? My heart is in thine hands. Her pulse ratcheted. “I’ve seen this handwriting before. That phrase.”
“Have you?” Eleanor’s posture straightened even more. “In one of the other letters?”
“In my letter.” Her gaze shot to Eleanor’s. “The one passed down from my family. Holy moly, this was Julia’s husband. G. MacLeroy.” She reread the name twice more. “G.M.”
Eisley jerked her backpack from the floor and took out the plastic folder in which she stored her research. “It’s him. Wait until you see. We have a name.” She giggled with every ounce of giddiness of a little girl at Christmas, Easter, and at least three more holidays. “Look.”
She stood and placed the paper on the table near Mr. and Mrs. H. Wes came to stand behind her as she started to read.
155--
Beloved Julia, my friend,
At last, I have liberty to call thee Julia, though my mind whispered thy name a thousand times before. Three weeks have passed since our parting, yet not one hour without thy memory visiting me. The portrait which thou left in my care has found a permanent home by my heart, but it will not satisfy without the warmth of thy touch or light of thine eyes. I will come soon and rescue thee.
My words cannot rehearse these feelings, but know my heart holds affections my pen cannot explore. I send thee my love, which thou must hold ‘til thou canst hold me in flesh, or I hold thee. To possess thine affections is an honor second only to God’s grace, and a treasure meant for kings. Do not say true love strikes once and never again. For we have both forgone the romance of youth and found mature love lingering even amidst sorrow’s touch, impassioned with truthe. My heart is in thy hands.
G. M-----
“The handwriting is the same.” Eleanor’s dainty fingers touched the corner of the paper. “And that phrase?”
“I know.” Eisley laughed. “He has a name. Oh wow, I can’t wait to tell Uncle Joe. Can you believe it?”
Wes poised behind her, settling his palm against her shoulder and kindling a surge of awareness
down her spine. “A happy ending in her second chance, you think?”
His voice vibrated heat at the base of her neck and his mere existence radiated strength. She’d gripped her independence close just to survive, terrified to risk giving to another person, but in one simple act of intoxication, she leaned back against his chest, reveling in the quiet sanctuary his presence slam-dunked her fears. It lasted less than five seconds before her numb brain registered what her errant body decided to do, but in those moments Wes’s cheek settled against her hair and his arm tightened with gentle pressure.
It felt like coming home.
And the glimpse into that world jackknifed her doubts like nothing else. She couldn’t run to her job as a distraction right now. No kids to hide behind. No family appointment to use as an excuse. All those wonderful things in her life kept her mind from thinking, her heart from hoping for any romance beyond the binding of a book. Her future lay stark naked and frighteningly vulnerable. And she trembled. Was she willing to find some courage? The longing ached through her muscles like the soreness of a ten-mile hike. She wanted a second chance.
“Since we travel to our home in Bakewell day after tomorrow, do you feel you’ve discovered enough to appease your uncle’s curiosity?”
She stepped out of Wes’s arms, her emotions raw. “Oh yes. From everything we’ve found so far, I’m sure he can plot out his novel without any trouble. I still don’t know how she smuggled the Scriptures, but I think this painting gives me a new place to start looking for clues about G. MacLeroy.” She picked up the letter and folded it into its careful pattern. “And I’ve been reminded of the main reason I got caught up in Uncle Joe’s research in the first place. Julia’s faith. God’s work in our family’s history started with Julia and threaded down to me and my kids. What a beautifully humbling thought.” Her vision blurred a moment. And a reminder He still worked in her life. He still had a plan.
Just the Way You Are (A Pleasant Gap Romance Book 1) Page 14
