Lady Gone Wicked (Wicked Secrets)(35)

She laid a gentle hand on his arm and looked at him with dark eyes full of tenderness. “I’m so sorry, Nick.”

He was filled with the strangest yearning to lie down and place his head in her lap and let her comfort him. He would tell her everything—how he had cried like a baby the first night, and that every day he had waited for a letter that never came, calling him home again. She would soothe the scabbed wounds of his soul. It was—

Dear God.

It was like hurtling over a cliff on a runaway coach.

Who was interrogating whom?

He shook off her hand, ignoring the hurt on her face. “Never mind that. Is Jane the friend we are to see?”

“Yes.” She looked at the flowers in her hand. She had tied the last to the first, so they now formed a circlet. With a flick of her fingers, she dropped it to the ground. “Shall we continue, then?”

For a moment, he had believed she would crown him with buttercups. But that sort of foolishness was best left to children and lovers, and they were neither of those things.

He hesitated only briefly before following her to the carriage.





Chapter Twenty-Six


It occurred to Nick, as they walked up the path to the small cottage, that Adelaide was a shade or two paler than her usual paleness.

“Are you well?” he asked quietly. “Is she expecting us?”

“Yes— No. That is, I sent word that I would visit the earliest I could get away, but I said nothing about you. How could I? I wasn’t expecting you myself.” That seemed to agitate her even further. “Perhaps you could wait in the carriage.”

“Not a chance.” He rapped sharply on the door.

It opened.

There was a moment of silence as Adelaide and the woman who’d opened the door stared at each other, which was then followed by happy, feminine laughter as they embraced.

Finally, the other woman stepped back and ushered them in. “Come in, come in. You must be so eager—” She stopped suddenly, seeming to realize for the first time that Nick was standing there. “Ah.”

“Mr. Nicholas Eastwood is the brother of my sister’s fiancé,” Adelaide said. She hesitated, then continued, “Mr. Eastwood, this is Miss Jane Sherwood, who was so kind to me during my…troubles.”

He followed them inside. The cottage was small and sparsely furnished, but it was clean and tidy.

“I was just about to put the kettle on,” Miss Sherwood said. “Would you like tea?”

He nodded. “Thank you.”

Adelaide continued to look about the room as though expecting someone else to be there.

Miss Sherwood smiled. “James is resting, but he will wake soon.”

James.

Nick’s fingertips tingled. “Who is James?” he asked Miss Sherwood. And why did Adelaide want him?

“My son.”

He looked at Miss Sherwood’s hand, unadorned by a wedding ring. She returned his look evenly, daring him to ask a question she would likely refuse to answer. Her lips pursed in a way that made him think she would relish telling him no. He cleared his throat. “How lovely.”

He had expected an elderly, dour spinster, but Miss Sherwood was not that. He doubted she had entered her fourth decade. She appeared strong willed, but not dour. Her cheeks reminded him of rosy apples when she smiled at Adelaide. She did not, he noticed, smile at him.

While Miss Sherwood busied herself in the kitchen, Adelaide removed her bonnet. She settled it on her lap, then proceeded to tie and untie the ribbons.

He watched her silently. Why was she so anxious? If she had been concerned for her welcome, surely those concerns were now laid to rest. Miss Sherwood was clearly happy to see her.

The teakettle screamed, and there was an answering cry from up the stairs. Adelaide jumped to her feet, her bonnet falling to the ground. “Shall I get him, then?”

She did not wait for an answer before darting from the room, trampling her bonnet in her haste. Nick retrieved it from the floor. Her heel had crushed the straw brim.

“How do you take your tea?” Miss Sherwood asked, setting the tray down.

He glanced at the tray, noted the extremely small sugar bowl, and said, “Just a splash of milk, thank you.”

She poured the tea, added the milk, and passed it to him. When she made her own cup, she added neither milk nor sugar. Adelaide, he knew, took her tea with both milk and sugar. Had she done without during her year here? He did not like that.

What else had she gone without?

Miss Sherwood did not seem to feel any obligation to engage him in conversation. The minutes slid by silently as they slowly drank their tea.

Finally, he said, “I’ll go see if Miss Bursnell requires help.” He stood.

“No, you will not.” Miss Sherwood sipped her tea, clearly having no more to say on the matter.

As he could not refuse a direct order from a woman in her own home, he reluctantly sat down again.

The long-case clock ticked loudly as it marked another quarter hour gone. It was strange to see such a costly item in a cottage rather than a grand London home. How had it come to be possessed by Miss Sherwood? Perhaps she had not always been poor. There was a gentle way about her, an almost aristocratic accent in her tone, that made him doubt she had always been a farmer.

Adelaide appeared with a small infant in her arms—James, Nick presumed. He stood quickly.