Mr. Bennion nodded. “I’m leaving for Norfolk tonight.”
He tried to keep the disappointment from his face. “Then I will see you tomorrow.”
“Ye won’t run off?”
Run off? This had been his best job yet. He wasn’t going to run away, simply because a young lady wanted to join him while he delivered goods about town, taking notes about ridiculousthings like how he loaded and unloaded his cart. “No, I will be here in the morning, just as I always am.”
He bid both Mr. Bennion and the unexpected young lady a good night. Miss Shroud’s eyes sparked when she returned his sentiment. He shook his head as he walked home to the small room he rented. The next day’s deliveries would be strange, indeed. It had been a long time since he had spent the day with anyone but Marge.
He hoped Miss Shroud either liked to talk or didn’t mind silence. He wasn’t sure he remembered how to converse with women—especially women like her.
CHAPTER 6
Lucy sat stilland straight in her seat on the cart next to Mr. Harrison. His clothing was the same as the day before, but it looked cleaner. More put-together. Had he taken extra care during his morning routine because he’d known she would be here, or did he start every morning looking this fresh, and his clothing crumpled with the day’s work?
If he had cared that she was coming with him during his work day, he hadn’t shown it. He hadn’t said a word since they left Mr. Bennion’s home.
That was only a few minutes ago, but still…shouldn’t he say something? Anything? She closed her eyes and replayed her friend Mary’s Scottish accent in her head a few times. She had always been jealous of it, even though Mary had insisted that it only brought her grief. “Where will we be stoppin’ first?”
Mr. Harrison cleared his throat, probably to clean out the cobwebs that had sprung up during his long silence. But still, he had a nice throat, and she didn’t mind him bringing attention to it. “I always go to the millinery first.”
Why the millinery? Did he go there first because of the shopkeeper? He hadn’t seemed overly interested in the woman when she’d seen him last, but that had been a week ago. Ifa young lady was persistent with her feelings, men could start to respond, couldn’t they? Had her fiancé come to enjoy the shopkeeper’s attention?
She shifted closer to him. He was, after all,herfiancé. It wouldn’t hurt for the shopkeeper to see them together.
Wait. No. She smacked her head. Mr. Harrison jerked to the side and looked at her from the corner of his eye. But he didn’t say anything. “’Twas a fly,” she said with a small laugh.
He furrowed his eyebrows, but didn’t question her.
She couldn’t go into the millinery. It was the only shop in town she had been in, and she couldn’t risk being recognized. She gritted her teeth together. Why did he have to go to the millinery first? The only reason—flimsy as it was—that she’d given Mr. Harrison for spending time with him was that she was trying to understand his methods. She would be a strange student, indeed, if she didn’t even accompany him on his first stop.
“What if we went to the millinery later?” She asked.
He didn’t even turn to look at her. “I always go to the millinery first.”
“Aye, but today…” She paused. How misguided would she sound if she asked Mr. Harrison to change his routine when she was supposed to be studying it?
“I always?—”
“Go to the millinery first. Aye, I know.” Was this to be her life? Sitting in silence or listening repeatedly to the one thought Mr. Harrison could voice? “I understand ye always go there first, but I was wonderin’ if, just this once, ye could go there...not first.”
He kept his face forward, watching the old cart horse as if she had the tendency to spook. Based on the way the horse’s hooves barely lifted off the ground with each step she took, Lucydoubted a runaway cart was much of a risk. One muscle in his cheek tightened.
“Not first?”
“Aye, not first.”
He took in a deep breath and let it out slowly. “I suppose I could go there second.”
Second. She let out a breath. At least that was better than first. She could make some intelligent conversation with him while he did his first errand, then make up an excuse to stay in the cart on their second stop. “Wonderful. Then where shall we go first?”
He looked into the cart behind them. There wasn’t much there. She hadn’t left Mr. Bennion’s home in time to help him load it. Next time, she would ask Mrs. Tucker to help her get ready early. If there was something heavy, she could help him—or, perhaps, watch him—load it. Helena would be expecting a report in her next letter, and a study in what the man she might marry looked like lifting heavy objects seemed like a crucial bit of information to include.
“First we will pick up a goose. Mr. Johnson, on the outside of town, wants it delivered to his daughter in Fenswallow.”
“A goose?” she asked. That was not at all what she’d been expecting. “Why doesn’t Mr. Johnson deliver it himself? He must have a cart on his farm.”
He furrowed his eyebrows. “Do you want my opinion on that?”
