“Can we confess it to Captain Ralston now?” she asked. “He’ll be excited, don’t you think?”
“I’ll tell him about it next time I see him. He shouldn’t read about it in the newspaper without having advance warning. He might faint and hurt himself.”
Clara laughed. “When is the reunion?”
“It’s not scheduled yet. Mr. Periwinkle will write to apprise me.”
“May I attend with you?”
“Absolutely,” Joanna said. “And I was debating whether we should have a holiday. I promised you a summer trip to Bath. What if we went there for a few weeks?”
“To Bath? Really? I can’t imagine how marvelous it would be.”
“I assumed that would be your opinion. Maybe we’ll investigate the prospect. We’d have to determine where to stay, and how much it would cost, in order to decide if we can afford it.”
“What if Mr. Periwinkle contacted you while we were away? What if you missed the reunion?”
“Believe me, I won’t let that happen.”
Sandy was about to bank the fire in the hearth when a knock sounded on the door. It was soft and furtive and, without checking, he could predict who it was.
His initial instinct was to ignore her. What good could come from answering?
The boys were in bed, and it had been a long day, but then, they were all long days. An enormous amount of effort was required to run the estate, and he was exhausted. He had to do his own job, plus Kit Boswell’s, so he was always overwhelmed.
The knock sounded again, a bit louder, and he sighed with resignation. He was thirty and a widower, yet it felt as if he hadn’t matured a whit from when he’d been sixteen and had first fallen in love.
As if a magic spell was pulling him over, he went to the door and eased it open. Margaret was standing there, and they exchanged a hot look, then she murmured, “Well? Will you invite me in or not?”
“I shouldn’t.”
“But you will.”
She smiled the smile he’d never been able to resist, and he grabbed her wrist and dragged her inside.
“Are your sons asleep?” she asked.
“Yes.”
“Perfect.”
He wasn’t sure what she wanted this time, but she was an expert at torturing him. During her prior visit, she’d suggested they sneak upstairs to frolic. He’d been stunned by her proposition, but he was also kicking himself for refusing. It had been the only proper reply, but oh! Just once, he’d like to push them to an outrageous conclusion.
“To what do I owe the pleasure of your company, Mrs. Howell?” His tone was very sarcastic.
“I searched for you all day, but you are so adept at hiding. I couldn’t find you anywhere, and we have to have a serious chat.”
She’d brought a satchel, and she held it out. He took it from her and asked, “What’s this?”
“Champagne and chocolates.”
“What are they for?”
“We have an important issue to resolve, then we’ll celebrate.”
“What will we be celebrating?”
“You’ll figure it out shortly.”
Obviously, she planned a surprise, but he couldn’t bear her surprises.
They were still trudging down the road they’d walked when they were adolescents. She was a Ralston, and he was a Ralston employee. He was a servant who served her family. There were so many obstacles separating them that she might have been living up on the moon. Their circumstances were that far apart.
When he’d heard she was a widow and coming home to stay, he’d told himself they were older and wiser, so their youthful impulses would have fled, but after he’d kissed her, he couldn’t deny that he was more besotted than ever, which had him worried about his sanity.
Wasn’t it a sign of madness to keep doing the same thing over and over, but expecting a different result? If he wasn’t careful, he’d wind up committed to an asylum. His warped relationship with her would drive him to that sort of bad ledge.
He tossed a log on the fire to get it burning again, then he emptied the satchel. There were two chairs by the fire, a small table between them, and he put the champagne and chocolates on it. She’d even included glasses and plates.
As he fussed with the treats, she removed her cloak and hung it on the hook by the door, and he noted that she’d dressed as if she was off to attend a fancy party. Why would she have? He wouldn’t try to guess.
In many ways, he knew her better than anyone, but in many other ways, she was a complete mystery.
Her gown was a pretty blue color, and the shade set off the blue of her eyes so they were particularly striking. Her hair was intricately styled, with braids and curls and a jaunty feather dangling in the back. Her slippers and fan matched her gown, and he was a tad unnerved by the display.
She sauntered over—yes, she definitely sauntered—then she pointed to one of the chairs and said, “Sit down.”
“Uh . . . all right.”
“I’m going to talk for a bit, and you’re going to listen. Then when I’m finished, you’ll give me the correct response.”
“I hope I’ll be able to.”
“I have no doubt about it. You’ve never failed me in the past, and you’re not about to fail me now.”
He sat as she’d commanded, and he stared up at her, terrified over what she was about to convey. He prayed it wouldn’t be a hideous request. She was horridly spoiled, and it wouldn’t occur to her that she might seek a favor he didn’t dare supply.
She studied him tenderly, as if he was greatly adored. He melted when she looked at him like that. No one else ever had. Not even his deceased wife who’d been fond, but who’d possessed no heightened affection.
“How long have I known you, Sandy?” she asked. “Twenty-eight years?”
“Yes, if we start counting from
