Mr. Bennion stepped forward and placed a hand on Matthew’s shoulder, bringing him back to reality. Whatever pull he felt with Miss Shroud’s hand in his vanished and pinpricks of trepidation replaced it. Mr. Bennion gave his shoulder a squeeze. “Miss Shroud will be in Fenswallow for three weeks. She’s staying here with her companion while I have a long overdue visit to my sister. She has asked to accompany you on your deliveries in order to ascertain what makes you so successful as an employee.”
He pulled his hand away and stepped to the side—away from both of them, where the air was easier to breathe. If he wasn’t mistaken, he saw a quirk of Miss Shroud’s lip. He looked between her and Mr. Bennion. Matthew must have heard wrong. “She has asked towhat?”
“Accompany you.” Mr. Bennion smiled.
“When?”
He rubbed his hands together. “Every day.”
Every day. Every day this stylish young Scottish lady would be working with him? Accompanying him, on the cart? The two of them—alone?
Forthree weeks?
He opened his mouth to protest, but whether from years of disuse, or complete bewilderment, he couldn’t force any words to move past his throat. What would he say? That the two of them, alone, on his cart every day would be inappropriate?
Because it would be, most definitely.
But to suggest such a thing to this woman of quality would be the definition of impertinence. He was a wind-worn working man, and to imply that there could be any sort of improper relationship between the two of them would be an insult. She might need protection from him if he were violent, but Mr. Bennion must have calmed any fears she’d had on that account. Still, even if the thought of him having any designs on her was out of the question, for her own sake, she shouldn’t be riding around alone with him. Didn’t she care about her reputation? Couldn’t she see what kind of temptation she could be to a man unused to human contact lasting more than the few minutes it took to pick up a cart or drop off goods?
He swallowed.
A temptation? He had barely met the young lady.
Andhe was engaged to be married. He had followed his family enough to know that his fiancée hadn’t begged off the engagement. She waslivingwith them. At the back of his mind was the knowledge that eventually, he would either have to return and finish what his parents had started or stay in the position he was in forever.
Maybe it was time he returned. His intended should be twenty years old by now, and by all accounts, grown. However, the more he thought about the girl he had met in the churchyard, the more certain he had become that she couldn’t have beenseventeen. Her parents must have pulled up her hair and lied to his parents in order to secure the marriage. So how old would she really be? She might only be seventeen now, which would be tolerable, perhaps. But one more year would be safer. He would give himself one more year, and then decide if would return home to marry Miss Bateman. By then, hopefully, he would be able to look at her and see a woman.
If it weren’t for his family, he wouldn’t return home at all. Earning his own way had been oddly satisfying, even if he didn’t have the skill to be a successful businessman. But with each year that Miss Bateman spent waiting for him, the guilt over leaving settled deeper into his heart.
He brushed the sleeve of his worn-out jacket. “It sounds as though this has all been arranged.”
Miss Shroud smiled. “It has. Convenient, isn’t it?”
He didn’t like the way she said that, as if he’d been waiting around for someone to find him a young lady to follow him around while he worked. He hadn’t been, and having her with him every work day for weeks was going to be extremelyinconvenient. But he was no longer in the class of men who could question those around him. “I could simply tell you how I go about my work day. Wouldn’t that suffice?”
“I’m afraid that won’t do.” She shook her head as if it were a tragedy. “People often do things out of habit, without even realizin’ what they’re doin’, and ye wouldn’t think to mention those things.”
“Things like taking packages out of my cart and into a shop?” he asked.
Her face lifted, a smile returning with a snap of her fingers. “Exactly. I’m glad ye see my point.”
Saw her point? Was the woman daft? “And driving the cart?” he asked.
“Aye,” she said, with even more excitement. “Drivin’ the cart is an extremely important part of it.”
Mr. Bennion smiled as if the woman he’d brought into his home was making perfect sense.
“You haven’t found anyone else who could show you these things?”
“No one,” she said with almost religious fervor, “has come more highly recommended than ye. I’ve heard yer praises sung more than I care to admit. And I am determined to discover if ye live up to the picture that’s been painted of ye, Mr. Scarper.”
“I…” He started to make another excuse, but if the woman actually thought there was a magical secret to moving items around town, there would be no arguing with her. “I suppose I will see you tomorrow then, Miss Shroud.” He gave her a nod, like a working man would. A man who shouldn’t notice the fine cut of her clothing or the becoming way her hair was curled at the nape of her neck. Then he turned to leave, careful not to run, though he was tempted.
“Mr. Scarper,” the young woman said as he pulled open the door. He turned, finding that all traces of Miss Shroud’s smile had disappeared. “I’m countin’ on seein’ ye,” she said, as if there was a chance their meeting wouldn’t take place.
Matthew raised an eyebrow. “Is there a chance you won’t be here?”
“Och,” she smiled. “No, like Mr. Bennion said, I’ll be stayin’ here with my companion Mrs. Tucker.”
