He supposed he did, but he didn’t worry about it as much as she apparently did. He had met people like this before—the sort who could never be happy unless everyone cared for them. He hadn’t thought Miss Shroud to be one of them.
“Of course I like it, but if someone doesn’t care for me...well, that is their choice, I suppose.”
“I suppose.”
They made it back to the oak, and Matthew tucked the shivering Miss Shroud under Marge’s neck. She wrapped her arms around his horse. The fabric of his shirt and coat were suddenly icy where she’d left him, and the part of his brain that told him she belonged in his arms was complaining about the injustice of having her gone. He had the sudden urge to fold her back into his arms and rub her back and shoulders until she was warm again. He shook the image from his mind.
That would be much worse than conversing with the woman.
Besides, her dress was covered in mud. The front of his shirt was the only part of either of them that hadn’t been covered in the stuff. He pressed himself against Marge’s side facing Miss Shroud.
He couldn’t hold her for warmth, but perhaps he could distract her. “What does your father think about you being here?” He’d always wondered, but he’d never dared ask, since he’d been such a curmudgeon to her.
Miss Shroud’s eyes flashed to him with a look of surprise. It seemed she hadn’t expected him to ask her a question. She tipped her head to one side and pursed her lips together. “I’m not sure what he thinks about it. I think, in the end, he will be very glad I came, but he might…nay…there’s no might about it. He’d want me to be on my way home. But I’m not ready. I don’t want to leave until I have what I’ve come for. If I can manage that, then I know I will have done something my whole family will appreciate.”
It was silent for a moment. Matthew had assumed her father had sent her here, but the way she talked made it sound as if it were solely her idea. Yet, she knew she would make her father happy. Matthew’s father would only be happy with him once he was married to someone wealthy enough to bring their family back from the brink of ruin. “It must feel good to know you will be making your family happy.”
“I suppose it does.” She leaned her head against Marge. “’Tis a strange thing to be very different from one’s parents. What will make them happy could have made me very unhappy. And yet, I was still willing to do it when I didn’t think I had another choice.”
“You always have a choice.”
“I know.” She smiled and slid her face forward. The movement made Marge’s neck quiver, which made Miss Shroud burst out a short laugh. She stroked Marge calmly. “Ye’ve mademy decision much easier, Mr. Scarper. Thank ye for being a gentleman thus far. It’s been important to me to have you as a friend.”
That stung. He’d done everything in his power to prevent the two of them from becoming friends. “Even if I didn’t talk much?”
“There are worse things than silence.”
“True.” He ran his hand down Marge’s side. “And there are worse things than trying to make your parents happy. I’ve tried to do the same.”
“Is that why ye became a delivery driver?”
He laughed. Standing in the rain with a cart full of goods was not at all what his parents would have wanted for him. But pleasing his parents had become very complicated after he left home. He was not the same person he had been when they knew him. Mother’s hats, the cost of keeping a carriage, and the opinion of society in general didn’t have the same sway on him. He would return, but when he did, he would do his best to curb his parents’ spending and help them see others more clearly. “No, it is not. I am not currently doing a good job of keeping my parents happy. I only meant to say that I understand your desire, and as long as their desires are good, it is a noble thing to help your family.”
When Sally Duncan had refused to marry him, he hadn’t understood her at all, but in truth, she had done them all a service. Matthew had been well on his way to living a life like his parents had. Marrying for money, and, he had to admit, Sally’s appearance. But he hadn’t felt anything deeper for her. The two of them would have ended up much like his parents, living their lives trying to impress others.
If his time away from home had taught him anything, he’d learned not to care at all about keeping up with others’ expectations of him. He’d disappointed everyone he’d ever known, and yet he still couldn’t think of a better solution to hisproblem. He couldn’t have married that child and his parents never should have let money push him into something like that.
Still, he’d have to go back and confront the problems he’d left behind someday. But when he did, he wouldn’t make the same mistake with Miss Bateman as he had with Sally Duncan. Hewouldmarry her, if she still wanted it. But he would let her know that if she didn’t, the two of them could figure something else out—another plan. He knew lots of titled gentlemen looking for a wife of means, if she truly wanted to continue on that path but not with him.
And he’d learned to be extremely frugal. Perhaps he could speak to his parents about their spending. A large dowry couldn’t be the only solution to their problems, could it?
The pounding of the rain softened, and Marge’s ears perked up. They listened and waited as the rain slowed until it was only a drizzle. Matthew met Miss Shroud’s eyes. If he hadn’t been engaged, and her heart wasn’t already set on someone else, what would he do at this moment? Much of Miss Shroud’s hair had escaped its coiffure, and was now plastered to the sides of her face and neck. Would he have allowed himself to hold her? Would she want him to? He closed his eyes against the vision of it. When he opened them again, she was staring at him with those deep brown eyes that were much too trusting. He swallowed. “I suppose I should run to get help now.”
She nodded.
But he didn’t leave just yet. It felt strange to leave her alone with Marge and the stuck cart, even for half an hour, when no one was likely to be out after such a storm. He took a step closer to her. Her arms were still wrapped around Marge’s neck, or he might have taken her hand and tested its warmth. “Blast, but I hate to leave you. I’ll be back as quickly as I can.”
Miss Shroud’s mouth curved upward and her eyes sparked as if he had said something funny. “I’ll wait for you. I don’tmind. I’m quite used to it.” Then she pulled his handkerchief from her pocket. It was still wet and muddied, but she lifted it to his cheek and wiped it along the side of his face. He sucked in a breath and held it. One of her thumbs touched the skin of his cheek, dragging across it. He hadn’t shaved this morning, and her fingernails caught on individual hairs as it went. He swallowed and willed his body not to shiver. Not from the cold, and definitely not from Miss Shroud’s touch. When she dropped her hand, she leaned forward. “Oh dear.”
His breathing stopped. “What?” Had she felt the crisp rise of heat where her skin had touched his?
Her eyes crinkled. “I believe I made you worse.”
The breath left his lungs in a puff and he shook his head. “There isn’t much that could make my face better.”
Miss Shroud raised an eyebrow. “I’m going to have to agree with that.”
He grabbed a fistful of Marge’s mane, unsure if it was to steady himself or to keep him from stepping closer. There was no proper way to understand that comment. Was Miss Shroud suggesting there was no hope for his face? Or that it didn’t need improvement? Neither answer seemed appropriate, so with one last friendly smile, he released his death grip on Marge, dragged himself from Miss Shroud’s presence, and jogged away.
