“You sound very certain in your own estimations.”
“I am.”
“You are never inaccurate?”
Something banged against the carriage door. “Eh, will’ee give me alms? Please, alms?”
As the maid beside her flinched in slumber, Georgina glanced out the snowy window.
A thin, rag-clothed woman banged again with shaking hands, but the driver outside had already hopped down to drag her away. He slung her into the street. A cry lifted.
“Leeds, get her up.” Mr. Oswald leaned forward enough to open the carriage door. Freezing air rushed in, reeking of dung and fish and the heavy taste of salt. “And give her this.”
The driver took the coins with an abashed flush. “Forgive me, sir, I just did not wish for the beggar to bother you—”
“I shall decide who bothers me and when. Now take care of the wretch and see that you keep watch for the ship. If my sister does not arrive soon, I shall let her find her own way home, if she can.” Settling back into his seat and closing the door, he glanced back to Georgina.
She attempted to keep the surprise from her face. Why did that so astonish her? After all the cruel and lofty rumors she had heard mentioned of Alexander Oswald, she would not have imagined him to have pity for a poor street scrounger.
“I have surprised you.”
“No.” She shifted in her seat. “It is only that you puzzle me.”
“I puzzle many people. The rarity is, no one ever puzzles me.” He leaned forward. “With the exception of you, perhaps.”
“I cannot imagine why.”
“You mock my intelligence.”
“Sir?”
“By pretending there is no intrigue about your character. You need not hide from me, Miss Whitmore.”
“I do not understand—”
“We are more alike than anyone might realize. Our reasons might be different. Our pasts certainly are. But today, right now, I daresay we are quite the same.”
The complexity of his words muffled her brain. Would she ever make sense of the things he said? Or did she comprehend more than she feigned? “You speak, of course, concerning my lack of matrimonial attachment.”
“You have had as many offers as I have declined to give.”
“Which makes us, in your assertions, alike?”
“To a degree, yes. I know why I am unwed. I do not know why you are.”
“Then I am a quest to you.” A smile rushed to her lips, but a small pang of disappointment still echoed through her. “Once you unravel this mystery and determine all my secrets, you shall move on to more exciting diversions.”
“Likely yes.” He matched her unwavering stare. “Disappointed?”
“No.” She was numb to such a fate. Indeed, she expected as much.
The carriage door banged again, this time lighter, as the driver announced the arrival of Miss Eleanor Oswald’s packet ship.
Mr. Oswald graciously offered that she might remain in the carriage, but as her back ached from too long sitting, she declined the gesture and followed him out into the cold.
Wind tore through her red cloak, racing a shiver up her spine.
The street was a commotion of theclip-clopof horses, bellows of street sellers, and thumps of crates and barrels being loaded into the many towering warehouses by stout sailors.
