Nicholas laughed, and Kitty shook her head in disapproval, but her lips were pinched in a grin too.
It was remarkable, the strength of laughter to break down barriers and clear the mind. With a deep breath, I opened my hand, hoping Nicholas didn’t notice the dirt beneath my nails. “It is only these pearls.”
He was quiet as he surveyed them in my palm, tapping each one with his finger.
“They are quite unremarkable,” I muttered. I didn’t want him to think that I had been so excited over a dirty strand of pearls.
“Not in the slightest.” Nicholas shot his gaze to mine. He was playing with me, but I was curious what this game might entail. “Anything can be remarkable if you make it so.”
Kitty had reclaimed her spot by the tree. I knew her current attentions were held by a boy that frequented the local village. She didn’t care for Nicholas like I did. But my attention was captured wholeheartedly by the boy in front of me. I tipped my head up to look at him, scrunching my brows in confusion.
Reaching inside his jacket, he withdrew a small wooden box. It could only have been two inches long and one inch tall, with small carvings at the edges. The wood was misshapen, striped in pale tan and brown. “I made this today. I finished my chores early.” He held out his hand, gesturing that I hand him the pearls. With wide eyes, I obeyed. He lifted the strand to his mouth and bit the knot at the end, breaking the pearls free. Pinching the strand, he tipped each pearl into the box and capped the ill-fitting lid.
“This is not an ordinary box now, Lucy. This is your dream box, and these pearls are wishes.”
I shifted my eyes to the box, my imaginative side quaking with excitement but my logical side questioning every word. But if any person possessed magic, it had to be Nicholas. My smile stamped out the logical side in one firm stomp. “How does it work?” I whispered.
He didn’t hesitate, but placed the box in my hand. It fit perfectly in my small palm. “Each pearl is a wish or a dream. You may use them at any time, but when you do, you must wash each pearl clean of the dirt and throw it … in the fireplace. If you do this, and if you never give up, your dream will come true.” He smiled with half his mouth, little crinkles marking the corners of his eyes.
I stared in awe at the tiny box filled with my dreams. Then I looked up at Nicholas, gratitude surging through me in one overwhelming wave. He was my biggest dream of all, I supposed. My face blossomed with warmth and I looked down at my toes again. “Thank you.”
“Keep it safe,” he said.
I nodded, curling my fingers over the gift—this present I would never forget. I would keep it very safe.
TEN
I dreamt that I still had my pearls, that I hadn’t used them all yet. In my dream I wished that I hadn’t left Craster alone, that I had bid my parents a proper farewell, that I hadn’t been stopped by those highwaymen. I awakened before I could use my fifth wish.
We had made it to the inn with little trouble the previous night, Nicholas conveying the same explanation as he had in the last inn. I was Mrs. Bancroft. He loved me. But it was only a story, and my heart was growing tired of hearing it. These days of travel would end. Nicholas would leave, and I would be helplessly sad because of it. It would be best that I arrive at Rosewood as quickly as possible. It wasn’t sensible to wish for any more time with Nicholas.
To my relief, a mail coach was arriving that morning for an early delivery, opting to travel during the day because of suspected storms that would reach us in the evening. I squinted at the skies when we stepped outside, and was reminded by the gray clouds of the sky I had left behind.
When he stepped out beside me, I observed that Nicholas had combed his hair. His face was shaved too, clean and smooth. I couldn’t help but smile as I looked up at him. He was too handsome for his own good. But I couldn’t let him see that I was admiring him.
Tearing my gaze away, I marched toward the halted coach. Boots crunched in the grass behind me. I tried to make up for my tiny strides, but Nicholas was there in an instant.
“You look beautiful,” he whispered into my hair as he passed. A shiver rolled over my shoulders and I caught my breath.
“Do not ever do that again.” My eyes widened. I hadn’t meant to say it aloud.
He raised his brows, making the molasses sugar of his eyes spark with amusement. “I thought you were going to help me with my wayward habits. Offering flattery is never a nefarious endeavor.”
I huffed a breath. It wasn’t the compliment. It was the whisper. The much-too-close whisper.
“You are wrong. Flattery is most frequently offered with insincerity. How many times have you searched to offer praise upon someone simply because they praised you first? Insincerity is a nefarious thing.”
We reached the coach and found the narrow seats outside on the back of the coach to be unclaimed. Nicholas stopped in front of them. I expected him to extend a hand to guide me up, but instead he gripped my waist with both hands, setting me on the narrow outcropped seat. I pushed my hair back from my eyes, embarrassed, as he took his place beside me. The seats were quite close together, and my feet dangled above the dirt ground. My shoulder pressed into Nicholas’s upper arm, and my leg bumped against his repeatedly as the passengers unsettled the coach as they climbed atop it and inside. I looked to my left, hoping there would be room to slide over, but there wasn’t an extra inch to spare unless I wished to fall off the coach. I swallowed hard. Nicholas shifted to face me. I knew his face was too close when I could see the gold streaks in his eyes.
“I don’t believe that to be true. My flattery was sincere, I assure you.”
His eyes bore into mine and I snapped them away, feigning interest in the embroidery on my skirts. I was embarrassed by my behavior; he hadn’t meant to make me uncomfortable. Or maybe he had. “Thank you,” I said in a quiet voice. “You are very kind.”
He gasped. “What a nefarious thing to say! I shall not believe a word of that insincere praise.”
I pinched my lips and shifted just my eyes to look at him. Nicholas chuckled before draping his arm across the metal piping that rested just behind my shoulders. “I have always hated coaches,” he said, changing the subject. “I always find the ride monotonous and uneventful.”
I couldn’t stop thinking about his arm directly behind me. I wished he would wrap it around my shoulders instead. I banished my thoughts and swept my gaze over the surrounding landscape. If I looked at his much-too-close face then I would lose my head. I certainly couldn’t endure another much-too-close whisper.
“There must be a way to make this ride more enjoyable,” I mused. “We cannot have you dying of boredom.”
“That’s unlikely with you here, Lucy.”
I flashed my gaze to his face, one quick glance before turning forward. “Why do you say that?”
“You are the most unexpected person I know.” His head was tipped down closer to mine, begging for my eyes. I dared another glance and wished I hadn’t. My heart thumped at the look he was giving me, at the unmistakable admiration that shone there. His smile was so close. I wanted to kiss him—but I knew I would never survive such a thing. My heart was already in pieces from a simple look.
I pushed my curls back from my face, tucking them under my bonnet. “How am I unexpected?” Perhaps he was referring to our unexpected reunion.
He shrugged one shoulder. “The things you say, the things you do. The things you love.”
“Did you not expect me to love hats? Or fashion?” I grinned up at him.
“I fully expected that.” He smiled, but it faded into a question, a puzzled look. “I expected you to be the same little girl from years ago. I didn’t expect a woman with opinions and boldness and spirit. You hide the things you feel. I never had to question your thoughts or your emotions before. You couldn’t hide anything from me even if you tried.” He gave a little smile and I felt my cheeks warm. He paused. “I expected you would still care for me.”
I caught my breath. My
words were stuck in my throat. What could I say? I did still care for him, much more than I should. But I was afraid of the things he made me feel. I stuttered for a second before Nicholas stopped me with a casual smile. “I like unexpected things. They keep me alert. They remind me I cannot have everything I want.”
His words lingered in the air and rang in my ears. His eyes were cast down at his lap, a shyness that didn’t seem to fit. Did he want me to care for him? His feelings could not have changed within two days of seeing me. But something warned me that perhaps he wasn’t completely indifferent.
But maybe he was.
The coach had been moving for several minutes now, and I focused on the trees and plants that we passed, soaking in the silence that had fallen between us. We traveled for most of the day, stopping periodically for a new team of horses. For the first hour we didn’t speak much. I made the occasional remark and Nicholas gave a brief response. But as the day went on, I found my smile returning. We talked of easy, light things, and I laughed over and over again. I recited children’s stories I had never forgotten from my nursery days, and Nicholas reminded me of summer events from our childhood that I had forgotten. The hours passed like minutes, and I wanted them to last forever.
I found myself studying him—looking for further indication that he might feel what I felt for him. But it was a mystery. He smiled, he spoke with animation, and he looked at me like he might look at any other lady. There was no flirting, just joyful conversation carrying on without effort, comfortable in the silent moments. But still, my heart ached with each of his glances in my direction. I was every bit in love with him as I had been six years ago. I couldn’t deny it. No matter how troubling his past, how many secrets he held, he was still Nicholas. He could still make me smile at any moment he pleased. He could still pluck out every emotion inside me and play them like a pianoforte.
I thought of a porcelain doll my grandmother had once given me. As a child I had played roughly with it, throwing it in the air and letting it fall onto the soft grass where it couldn’t break. I carried it by the leg, swinging it by my side everywhere I went, never thinking of the dangers of doing so. I loved the doll. Then one day I had walked too close to the fence, swinging the doll without looking, and cracked off several pieces of the face against the picket. In a panic I had tried to fix it, enlisting my father to help me. With the new pieces crookedly in place, I had set the doll on a high shelf in my bedchamber. I didn’t throw it or swing it. I didn’t touch it. I hadn’t understood how fragile it was until it was broken. I didn’t want to hurt it again.
Nicholas had once played dangerously with my heart without knowing it. And I hadn’t seen the potential harm that would come from caring so much for him. My heart was now the cracked doll, high up on a shelf where I was too short to reach it. But Nicholas was tall. He knew where to find it, and how to swing it and throw it until it was beyond repair.
My eyes squeezed shut and I built another shelf, a much higher one this time.
We were just outside of London when the coach stopped for the night, depositing us outside of the last country inn before we would be in the center of town living. The air was crisp under the blackened sky, making the tip of my nose tingle with cold. Passengers climbed out from within the coach and were assisted from the top. They bustled around us, moving toward the inn’s entrance, stretching their backs and legs. Nicholas helped me down from the coach and smiled down at me, a twinge of mischief in his expression. His hand lingered on my waist for a bit longer than necessary. I noted it.
“Have you enjoyed your time spent as Miss Lucy Abbot?”
“Am I not still Miss Lucy Abbot? I’m not Mrs. Bancroft until we walk through that door. Even so, I wish such deceit weren’t necessary.” I pressed my lips together and tried not to smile, looking up at him through a sheet of lashes.
He stared down at me. I could see the details of his face from the flickering windows of the nearby inn. “Be careful.”
My brow furrowed.
“You can never know what sort of men would be tempted to kiss you when you give them a look like that.”
I felt my cheeks flame. Perspiration gathered in my palms and I wiped them on my skirts. My eyes were planted firmly on the patched grass at my feet. “And what sort of men are they?”
“The sort with eyes. The sort that have heard that voice, that laugh, and all the intelligent and silly things you have to say.” His voice held a smile as he nudged my chin up with his knuckle, cold like the tip of my nose. His eyes searched my face, and when his hand touched my cheek I felt my face burn further. “Ah. Your face is warm. Thank you … my hands were cold.” He chuckled and cupped his hands, breathing into them and rubbing them together.
I released the breath I had been holding, willing myself not to shake. Nicholas had taken that exchange—whatever it was—so lightly. Deep, stinging emotion throbbed in my chest.
“Shall we go inside?” My voice was too quick and harsh. The people around us had dispersed, and I couldn’t stand being alone with Nicholas for another moment.
He watched me for a second longer, a question hovering in his eyes. But then he pressed his mouth into a firm line and nodded. “Very well.”
I turned on my heel and marched toward the entry, not waiting for Nicholas. The inn wasn’t nearly as welcoming as the other I had visited. It smelled musty, and there were only a few candles to light the parlor. Nicholas caught the door before it could swing shut behind me and stepped closer, giving me a confused look.
I kept my eyes forward to where the innkeeper was speaking with another traveler. He was tall and thick with a roughly shaven face covered in pockmarks and sweat. His gaze fell on me in a sweeping motion, a darkness in his eyes that disturbed me. I looked away but determined that his eyes had not strayed from me even a minute later. My stomach dropped. There was something very wrong with that look.
I turned my face over my shoulder, searching for Nicholas. My hand shook, but I took his arm anyway. The anxiety melted from my shoulders and I could breathe again.
“Is there something wrong?” Nicholas asked.
He looked down at me with concern, brows drawn together, then searched the room. I saw his gaze land on the innkeeper. He pulled me closer and tipped his head down to whisper, “Don’t be afraid.”
I nodded, flicking my eyes back to the horrifying man. He was still watching me through half-lidded eyes, no shame in the prolonged stare. He stepped around a cluster of travelers and approached us. He had plenty of unsettling smiles for me and plenty of frowns for Nicholas. “Good evening. May we interest you in a hot meal?” Half the time he spoke to me he met my eyes. The other half his gaze was … elsewhere. I shifted and gripped Nicholas tighter.
Nicholas stepped forward, his face even. But I could feel the tension in his arm. “Yes. My name is Mr. Bancroft and this is my wife. We thank you for your hospitality.”
The innkeeper watched us as we turned toward the parlor, and Nicholas glanced over his shoulder. “Perhaps we have chosen the wrong inn tonight.” He smiled down at me, and I thanked him with my eyes. I thanked the heavens too for sending him here with me. That innkeeper was unsettling in every way.
We took a place by the low-burning fire in two soft chairs with a short table between us. I sunk into the cushion, fully prepared to fall asleep within seconds. Nicholas sat across from me, his face glowing with amusement.
“What?” I sat up straighter.
“You’re so little.”
Out of old habit, I crossed my arms with a huffed breath. “I am fully aware of that fact, Nicholas.”
He chuckled, leaning his elbows on the table and resting his chin on his fist. His lips were lifted in half a smile, and his hair had fallen softly on his forehead. The flames performed a dance over his face, light and shadow. He looked so endearing in that moment that I couldn’t help but smile back.
When we received our food, I realized how hungry I was. My stomach rumbled as I enjoyed the ham, bread, an
d soup. Nicholas finished my bread after I insisted that I was quite full. I glanced at him over my cup, imagining what it might be like to share a meal with him every day of my life.
It was strange. At times I thought I knew him well, and at others he felt much like a stranger. He had no occupation that I knew of. He was a thief and a scoundrel. Was he not? I rubbed my head, trying to make sense of it. How could I care so much for a thieving scoundrel? What would Mama and Papa say to that? Of course I could never marry him. No matter that he hadn’t made any serious indication of the sort, but he was living a secretive life with no reliable or honorable income. I was tempted to ask again—for the truth. But I didn’t want him to close himself off again. I enjoyed spending time with the light, happy Nicholas.
He was holding his open wallet in front of him, a look of consternation on his face. “We may be in a slight quandary.”
My stomach dropped as I eyed the leather in his hand.
“When I paid the coachman I didn’t realize the expense. We have little left, not enough to pay for the meal. Certainly not two rooms. Or one for that matter.” He rubbed his hand over his hair, glancing behind him where the innkeeper stood. I followed his gaze but immediately wished I hadn’t. The innkeeper met my eyes and set foot in our direction. Nicholas jerked around in his chair. Our gazes locked, and he stood to face the horrifying man heading in our direction. I stood too, standing several feet back.
Nicholas gave a brief nod. “Good sir, I regret to say I have fallen short on my means. I am immensely sorry. The very moment I have the funds to pay you for your service I will return here promptly. I will leave you with the location of my residence.” He spoke with an apologetic charm that would have convinced the mantua maker to send him with an entire shop of dresses, free of charge. But this man was not a mantua maker.
The innkeeper’s face reddened and his teeth formed a straight line. “You mean to say you’ll be leavin’ without paying? Everyone must pay.”
Road to Rosewood Page 10