Nor half so empty as she allowed herself to think.
Of all the blasted insanities.
Tom chewed on the cold slab of venison Meade had left out for him in the kitchen, but he couldn’t swallow. The lump had been in his throat since he left Mrs. Musgrave.
Maybe before that.
Blast.
Joanie hadn’t said anything when Tom told her. She’d stared at her shoes. The raggedy ones. The ones Tom was supposed to replace.
“We shall get along quite well, Joanie and I and Lenox,” Mrs. Musgrave had said, draping an arm around the child.
Joanie stiffened. Shy, the little lass. Even when Papa first brought her home with her tangled hair and dirty dress and fearful head tilts, she had taken days to babble her first words.
He remembered the first time she’d smiled.
How the family had all gathered around her, clapping their hands, pulling her in for hugs and kisses. Even the dog had yapped in excitement.
He wished she’d smiled today instead of looking at him the way she did. Horrified, devastated, as if pleading with Tom not to—
“Figured you’d be up.” Meade’s shadow appeared in the crooked kitchen doorway. “I see you got rid of the little mouse.”
Tom shoved out of his chair a little too hard. It toppled behind him.
Meade shrugged. “Had to be done.”
“Anything on Hector?”
“Word is he caught a coach northbound.”
“When?”
“After the fire.” Another shrug. “Day or two later.”
“Which coach?”
“Don’t matter. He’s gone.”
Tom suppressed a growl. He grabbed the dry bread from his plate, the last hunk of venison, and his tankard of milk. “Leave the light in the window.”
“Where you going?”
Tom wasn’t certain himself until the words were out, “To get my sister.”
The village stirred something inside her. The unshakable desire to rip off her satin gloves, pull the flower-trimmed bonnet from her head, and take off running down the mossy cobblestones.
A blush pinched at her cheeks.
Lord Cunningham leaned closer to her in the landau, surveying their surroundings with mildly interested pleasure. He had resumed his demeanor of treating their journey as if it were some trivial outing. As if he were the gentleman and she the fine lady, and they had chosen the sleepy village of Juleshead for a day of courting and adventure.
He had no idea what sort of creature she was.
How uncivilized her thoughts.
“I say we take a small ride about the main streets, in the event anything nudges your memory. Mr. Willmott has waited this long. I do not suppose another half hour shall be of consequence.”
Meg murmured agreement.
