Miss Shroud took one last look at the three of them linked together and, with an odd glint in her eye, strode forward, silently but with direct purpose. The geese were so distracted byhim and the two sisters that they didn’t notice Miss Shroud until it was too late. She swiftly grabbed a goose by the neck and lifted it into her arms.
Without a shout of triumph or even a hint of a smile, she turned and marched the goose straight to Matthew.
Matthew pulled his arms away from Miss Johnson and Miss Mary, though Miss Mary seemed reluctant to let him go. The three of them stood there blinking at Miss Shroud, trying to adjust to no longer having a purpose. He brushed off his jacket and ran his fingers through his hair, then reached for the bird wrapped in Miss Shroud’s arms. She handed it to him without flourish. “We’ve got the goose,” she said, her voice more businesslike than it had ever been before. “So I suppose ‘tis time to go. If I remember correctly, ye are expected at the millinery.”
He had only known Miss Shroud for less than a day, but he knew her face was typically smiling, expectant, or curious. So far he had never seen her angry—not even when he had pulled her roughly up onto the cart. He shouldn’t have noticed what it felt like to hold her while her shoulders shook with gasps of relief when she fell back into the cart, but he had, and even then, laughter had been her first instinct.
If he didn’t know any better, he would suspect she was jealous.
Ridiculous.
Absolutely ridiculous. He tightened his grip around the goose. First of all, she should have no reason to even notice him, and second, Matthew was engaged.
Not that she knew that, but Matthew knew it, and he shouldn’t be jumping to such an illogical conclusion when he had a fiancée. He schooled his face back into the bored expression he had told himself he should have when working with Miss Shroud “Miss Shroud is right. I do have moredeliveries today.” He motioned to the goose with his chin. “We will deliver the goose to your daughter, Mr. Johnson.”
Mr. Johnson’s eyes went to his daughters, then back to Matthew. “You won’t stay for a spot of tea?”
Matthew shook his head. “No, I really do need to get to the milliner’s shop before it gets any later.”
He doubted his mother would come back to the shop, but it was a chance he wasn’t willing to take.
“Mr. Victor, would you like to stay for tea?” Miss Johnson asked.
Mr. Victor looked back and forth between the smiling Miss Johnson and the oddly sullen-looking Miss Shroud, and after only a moment's hesitation, Mr. Victor nodded.
Matthew must not be much of a threat to Miss Shroud, after all. Not if a spot of tea could persuade the vicar to leave her with him.
He didn’t know if he should be offended or not.
When they got back to the cart, Mr. Victor once again helped Miss Shroud climb up into it. Then, she motioned for the goose.
Matthew shook his head. “I’ve got a box in the cart. You don’t need to hold it.”
Miss Shroud frowned. “You want to put that fine bird in a box?”
“I don’t want to, exactly, but I usually make this delivery myself. I couldn’t hold a goose and still have complete control over the cart.”
“Then ‘tis fortunate for everyone that you have my help today. Hand the goose to me.”
It almost sounded like an order, and his lip quirked up as he shrugged and lifted the squirming goose up to her. “Careful of the wings.”
“I think I know how to hold a goose, Mr. Scarper,” she said. But between the height difference and his angle as he leaned intothe cart, she couldn’t quite wrap her arms fully around the goose before he had to loosen his grip on its middle, causing one wing to escape and flap against his face.
“The wing, Mr. Scarper,” one of the Miss Johnsons said in high pitched excitement.
Matthew’s vision was blanketed in white. He closed his eyes against the onslaught of feathers until, suddenly, the flapping was gone.
Miss Shroud had stood and folded the goose’s wing into its body, containing it.
Matthew rubbed his face and checked his hair for feathers, a few of which he found. Then he stepped into the cart.
It was a good thing he’d already established that he didn’t necessarily like to speak, for he couldn’t think of a single thing he could say to Miss Shroud that wouldn’t make the whole trip to Johnson's farm seem even less dignified.
After a few minutes of silence, Miss Shroud turned to him, the goose still held firmly in her arms. “Will all of our visits be like that one?”
“If I said yes, would you want to go home?”
“Nay.”
