CHAPTER 13
There wasa distinct bounce in Matthew’s step as he made his way out of the milliner’s shop a few days later. The incident in the rain had changed the dynamic of his relationship with Miss Shroud. Matthew had managed to get help with the wheel, and the next few days of deliveries had gone smoothly. He no longer made a conscious effort not to speak to Miss Shroud. Her comment about his looks should have made him more wary, but he focused instead on the fact that she was the type of woman who liked to be liked by people and she wanted to be his friend. With the added protection of her being in love with some man out there, he no longer felt the need to distance himself from her. He just needed to banish the memory of her touching his face and the feel of her tucked into his side.
It had been over a week since Mandy asked for brown ribbon and he’d had no luck getting any scraps in any shade of brown. He looked down at the small parcel in his hand. It wasn’t often that Mandy asked for anything in particular. Mr. and Mrs. Garvis didn’t need to know he had paid for the ribbon this time. Miss Creighton had raised her eyebrows when he actually picked out a ribbon and bought it, instead of asking for scraps.
“Is it for Miss Shroud?” she’d asked.
Matthew had been certain to point out that it wasn’t. Even so, it was strange to hear Miss Shroud’s name on Miss Creighton’s lips. Miss Shroud hadn’t ever come into the millinery when he made deliveries. As far as he knew, they’d never met, but obviously people had been talking about them.
He drove the cart to the bookshop and walked in. Miss Shroud was in the back with an open book in front of her. Mr. Garvis stood behind the counter. “Scarper, welcome.”
Miss Shroud looked up from her book and smiled at him.
It might have been Miss Creighton’s insinuation about buying Miss Shroud a ribbon, but something about that smile struck him differently. Miss Shroud was being friendly with him, just as she was friendly with everyone, but still…
Her smile made him feel welcome, like he belonged. Like a hot pot of tea warming his fingers after being outside in the cold too long.
How long had it been since anyone had made him feel that way? Perhaps it was time that he went back to his family—back to where he belonged.
And yet, even at home, his parents' smiles had never felt like a warm pot of tea.
Maybe he just needed to buy a teapot.
Matthew placed his parcel on the countertop. “I’ve brought your daughter some ribbons from the millinery.”
Mr. Garvis’s face fell and he pushed the package back toward Matthew. “Oh, no. I’m not taking that.”
Matthew tipped his head to one side. “You don’t want me bringing her ribbon?”
“On the contrary. We love that you bring her ribbon, but I’ll not be the one to give it to her. Mandy has been asking about you and Miss Shroud every day since you visited. She would be horrified if the two of you didn’t deliver this yourselves.”
He glanced over at Miss Shroud, who was back to reading the dark blue leather-bound book she’d had open when he walked in. She looked different in a bookstore than she did in the cart. Her posture was impeccable, and without the rough presence of himself and Marge, she almost looked like one of the ladies his mother would have liked to push him into courting in the past. “We can do that. But not today. I’m afraid we’ve too many deliveries ahead of us.”
“Mandy would rather get the ribbon a few days later than miss a chance to see you two.”
Matthew nodded and took the little package. “All right.”
Mr. Garvis nodded toward Miss Shroud. “She’s been reading as much of that book as she can every time she comes in.”
Something about the book was familiar. “Is that…?”
“The Illustrated Arctic News.Yes. When I ordered your copy, I purchased one for the store as well.”
Miss Shroud was interested in Arctic exploration? She turned a page carefully and continued reading. What page was she on? Had she seen the illustrations of the dog sleds? He ambled over in her direction, aware that Mr. Garvis was watching them. Miss Shroud was either too engrossed in the stories of the expeditions or he had walked quietly enough that she didn’t notice him until he was standing next to her, leaning over to see what she was reading.
She jumped slightly and her eyes flew to his. Mystery and fascination filled her deep brown eyes. “Have ye seen this book?” she asked him.
“I have,” he answered without letting her know that he was the reason Mr. Garvis owned it. “I have seen most of the books in this shop.”
“Ye should read it. Lost ships, freezing conditions, dog sleds…” She said each word as if it were a mystery she was about to solve. “Can ye imagine?”
He had imagined it—many times. He would often look through the same pages she was devouring before going to sleep. He would picture himself on a dogsled, seeing land no man had ever set foot on, and then he would glance over at his fire, crackling and warm, and shrug. The nice thing about reading about an expedition instead of actually being on one was he didn’t have to freeze. Adventure was well and good, but a warm fire always felt even more inviting when reading about theResolutebeing lost in the Arctic. “It would be quite an adventure.”
“’Twould be.” She sighed and closed the book with a shiver. “But I’m not so sure about being that cold.”
He laughed, took the book from her, and placed it back on the shelf. How many evenings had he thought the same thing? “I agree. Thankfully we can read about it so we don’t have to be the ones losing fingers.”
Miss Shroud’s eyes went wide. “They lose their fingers?”
