With a grimace, he turned on his heel. The last thing he wanted to do was interrupt.
“Mark!” Mr. Bennion called from the kitchen. “Is that you?”
Matthew squeezed his eyes shut and sighed. It looked as though he had already interrupted. “Yes, I’m finished with the deliveries. I’ll be back tomorrow.”
Mr. Bennion came around the corner. “Not so fast. There’s someone here I’d like you to meet.”
Meet? Matthew didn’t meet people. Not anymore. He avoided them. What had started out as fear of being seen by friends or family had become a habit. He quietly delivered goods, then spent the rest of the evening reading or writing in his tiny room. Any money he had left after paying for his room and meals was saved for books and paper.
He opened his mouth to mumble an excuse when a young lady came up behind Mr. Bennion. Perhaps he had been toolong in a small town where the only women he spoke to were shopkeepers or maids at back doors, but the sight of her made him choke on his words. She was stunning…the type of woman who drew all the light in a room to where she was standing. Her wide smile and gilded brown eyes still held the residue of the laugh he’d heard earlier.
What was a woman like this doing in Mr. Bennion’s home? Or in Fenswallow, for that matter? She was young—much too young for Mr. Bennion to be pursuing her. She could be his granddaughter, for heaven’s sake. And even if Mr. Bennion were Matthew’s age, the young woman would have outclassed him in spades. Her honey-colored hair was pulled up simply, but it was the kind of simplicity that smacked of sophistication, not lack of care.
Her only jewelry was an oval locket on a chain, but both the chain and the masterfully filigreed locket looked to be gold. Her clothing wasn’t ostentatious, but it was quality—high quality. He delivered enough fabric to know the difference between cheap materials and the type of soft, gray cloth that draped over her curves. If the fabric weren’t enough of a giveaway, the cut of the dress was obviously done by a master. Every seam at the waist bowed in to accent her narrowest point before flaring out over her hips in graceful precision.
He dragged his eyes away from her figure, his neck hot. He knew what women like her thought of working men eyeing them. It was insulting, and his shock had made his gaze spectacularly inappropriate.
She must be from London. His eyes shifted behind her, but no one else followed her.Hadhis mother seen him at the milliner’s shop and sent this young woman? The timing was suspicious. But if she’d seen him, she would have dragged him home immediately rather than sending some young woman for him a week later. He narrowed his eyes. She couldn’t be…
No, Miss Bateman’s hair had been dark and her skin pale, and there was no possibility Miss Bateman would come here alone.
“Miss Shroud.” Mr. Bennion smiled at the woman. “This is Mr. Scarper. Mr. Scarper, Miss Shroud.”
Her brow rose even higher than its natural swooping arc at the mention of his name. Was she expecting a different name? Something about this situation did not feel right.
“Mr. Scarper, are ye?” Her Scottish accent was thick, stealing away all of her refinement. She placed a hand to her shapely hip in a motion that seemed as Scottish as her words.
Not from London, then. The muscles in the back of his neck relaxed. His mother would never have sent someone Scottish after him. She barely acknowledged the few well-to-do Scottish families they were acquainted with. Not that those families seemed to mind.
He almost answered with an “aye.” What was it about accents that made him want to mimic them? “Yes,” he said, carefully enunciating the word. It wouldn’t do for him to offend her right away. “I’m Mr. Scarper.”
She rushed forward, and he took a step back, but his surprise didn’t stop her. She grabbed his hand and pumped his arm up and down. “’Tis’ a pleasure to meet ye. A real pleasure. I’ve heard all about how well ye are delivering for Mr. Bennion, and I’m just pleased to finally meet ye.”
Finally?
How well had he been delivering? It wasn’t as if it was a difficult job that required any sort of skill. He picked up packages in one place and left them in another. There was no talent involved in it.
He found his voice a beat too late. “It’s nice to meet you as well, Miss Shroud.”
Her deep brown eyes sparked. “’Tis, isn’t it? It seems as though I’ve been waitin’ years and years for this introduction.”
If the door weren't behind him, he would take another step back. What did she mean she’d been waiting for years? “I’ve only been working for Mr. Bennion for six months.”
“Aye, but I’ve been waitin’ for someonelikeye. I’ve been in contact with many gentlemen who own companies such as Mr. Bennion’s, and in all the time I’ve looked, he is the first to tell me he’s hired someone with as much skill as ye have.”
Matthew eyed Mr. Bennion. He was smiling as if he had just bit down on a coin in a loaf of yule bread. Had Matthew really done such an amazing job for him? He must have had terrible help in the past. He looked back at the woman warily. “I simply deliver packages.”
“Oh,” Miss Shroud scoffed and bumped a hand on his shoulder. “Ye do much more than that. Ye speak to the shopkeepers, deliver on time, keep up appearances.” At that she eyed him up and down. “And yer appearance seems to please the shopkeepers.”
He would never have thought the coarse garments he wore while working would catch an approving eye from a refined young lady, but that was exactly what was happening. And her eyes… They fairly sparked with excitement. Whatever Mr. Bennion had told her, it couldn't have been the truth. Nothing he had done since coming to work here had ever merited such praise.
Nothing he hadeverdone had merited such praise.
He raised his chin though, because the way she looked at him made him feel as though he must have done something right. How long had it been since anyone had looked at him with blatant admiration? Most people hardly noticed him anymore, unless he was late with a delivery. Then they took note. A few of the families with multiple daughters didn’t seem to mindhaving him around, but if young, eligible men weren’t so scarce in Fenswallow, no one would notice him at all. Nobody sized up Matthew’s capabilities without finding him wanting. Miss Shroud’s eyes sparked because of what he could do, not how he looked. It almost made him believe he could be of use to her.
The only time he’d gained such a look from his family was when he agreed to marry Lucy Bateman. And if his family saw him now in his thick brown workman’s clothing, with nothing but a shelf of books to his name, all he would see on their faces would be scowls. Nothing like this woman’s brilliant smile.
Miss Shroud still held tightly to his hand. Was she waiting for him to pull away? In a strange way, he didn’t want to. In the last three years he’d seldom gotten close to anyone, and this small point of physical contact and nearness to her bright face were doing strange things to him.
