Rebel Magisters (Rebel Mechanics #2)(52)

I could barely focus on his words, I was so distracted by his hand gripping mine. He seemed to have forgotten that he was still holding onto me and appeared unaffected by the contact. I wondered if I should ease my hand out of his to avoid any potential awkwardness, but he was holding too tightly for me to do that without being obvious and looking like I was trying to escape him, which I certainly wasn’t. I rationalized that it was easier and less uncomfortable for me to keep my hand in his, and he was the one likely to bear the brunt of any embarrassment once he realized what he was doing.

While I fretted about our proximity, he went on excitedly about his plans to get his friends throughout the colonies to contact the baron’s list of potential allies. “Are you sure you can trust them all?” I asked.

“The baron’s list or my friends?”

“Both. One false ally on that list or among the people you contact, and the movement could be jeopardized.”

“I don’t intend to tell everyone about everyone. I’ll assign one person to contact one person.”

“And all of them will know about you.”

He squeezed my hand, which told me he hadn’t forgotten he was holding it, after all. “Dear Verity, haven’t you noticed that I lead a charmed life? Besides, all my friends already know about my revolutionary proclivities. If I haven’t been arrested by now, I should be safe. All I’m doing now is writing letters and talking to people. It’s far less hazardous than armed robbery.”

The sick knot in the pit of my stomach disagreed with his assessment of risk.

*

As we prepared to depart Boston, I was too busy with the children to know whether the baron had fulfilled his promise to deliver the list of names to Henry, and I wasn’t able to spend enough time with Henry to ask. It was only as we loaded the carriages to depart for the airfield that he caught my eye and patted his breast pocket.

This journey, to Charleston in the Carolinas, was an overnight voyage. That meant I had to spend all day in the passenger lounge with the others, a night in a cabin shared with Olive, and then another half day with everyone else. I wondered if I could suggest an afternoon nap. We were making an early start, after all.

While we made our ascent, we were all too occupied with looking out the windows to worry about making conversation. Once we’d reached the cruising altitude, though, we had to interact with each other. I assigned work to Rollo and Olive, who took their books and papers to the dining table. Flora paged through a fashion magazine, and Henry sketched. That left me with the governor, who brought out no amusements. I would have loved to read, but I felt it would be rude to leave him alone.

Much to my surprise, the governor cleared his throat and addressed me. “I did mention that I’d met your parents, didn’t I, Miss Newton?”

“Yes, Your Grace, you did. And Lady Elinor told me a little more about that event.”

“Your mother was very kind to Elinor, who was quite a bother. I remember your mother fondly. I was sad to hear of her passing. It was recent, you said?”

“Yes, just before I came to work for Lord Henry.”

“Your father let you leave home so soon after your bereavement?”

That was a difficult question to answer politely. My father hadn’t let me leave. He’d ejected me from his house upon my mother’s death, saying I was no daughter of his. But I didn’t want to tarnish the governor’s fond memory and good opinion of my mother with a hint of scandal, so I said, “My father insisted upon it. I had nursed my mother through her illness, and he believed a change of scenery would be good for me.”

“You were well-educated, it seems. Your father instructed you?”

“Yes, Your Grace. He taught me the way he taught his university students, even though I was much younger.”

“You seem to be doing an excellent job with my grandchildren.” Much to my relief, he picked up a newspaper and buried his face in it.

I looked up and caught Henry’s eye. He raised an eyebrow, as if to ask, “What was all that about?” To which I replied with a faint shrug, indicating, “I have no idea.” Perhaps the governor was merely being polite, since we were set to spend many hours in very close quarters. I checked on Rollo and Olive’s progress, corrected one of Rollo’s Latin conjugations, then resumed my seat and picked up a book.

We passed the next couple of hours in companionable silence until the steward brought midmorning refreshments. “We must have the last tea in Boston,” Henry quipped as the steward poured from the pot. The governor’s glower suggested he wasn’t at all amused. I was surprised Henry had brought it up, but then I supposed that it would be odd for him not to discuss such a notorious event. It was in keeping with his public persona to treat it as an amusing joke that he’d likely forget about the next time he encountered an interesting specimen of insect.

All of us went back to our respective solitary pursuits. Flora finished her magazine and became restless. She got up and paced the lounge, pausing to look over Henry’s shoulder at his sketchpad. “Henry, why are you drawing Miss Newton?” she exclaimed.

Everyone looked up from what he or she was doing and stared first at Henry, then at me. “Look at the way she’s sitting,” Henry said, gesturing toward me. “She’s set just so against the window, and the angle of the light is perfect. I had to sketch her. Apologies, Miss Newton, if that makes you uncomfortable.”