Matthew shrugged. “Sometimes.”
Miss Shroud eyed the bookshelf as if it were dangerous. “And to think I was considering joining them.”
He narrowed his eyes. “You weren’t.” But Miss Shroud had traveled across England, away from her family, to spend three weeks on a cart with him. Perhaps he shouldn’t doubt her.
“Not in earnest, but the thought did cross my mind.”
“They don’t just lose fingers. They also lose toes, men, and ships out there.”
“Aye, I know. I was just imagining.”
“I’m not certain I trust your imaginings. That was what brought you to me.”
She smiled up at him again. There it was, that feeling of warmth. “It hasn’t been so bad, has it? No one has lost any toes.”
He smiled back at her. How could he not? “Or ships.”
She jutted out her chin. “I think I could handle an expedition. A small one.”
He tipped his head to one side. “And I think the woman I saw freezing under an oak tree a couple of days ago might disagree.”
Miss Shroud wrinkled her nose. “Dash it all, ye're right.”
Matthew hated to see her adventurous spirit tempered even the slightest bit, so he told her what he often told himself on the nights he dreamed about seeing the Arctic. “But if you did go, you’d be well prepared with clothing meant to keep out the cold.”
She brightened. “Aye, and—” She lifted a finger as if she were about to make an extremely important point. “’Twould never rain. It couldn’t. The temperature would always be below freezin’.”
He grinned. Her logic was beautifully fanciful. “Exactly.”
They stood there silently, smiling at each other as if they hadn’t just been talking of frostbite and amputation. Mr. Garvis cleared his throat. Matthew blinked and shook his head. Miss Shroud’s smile grew at the interruption. “Don’t mind us. We were simply planning an expedition to the Arctic. Mr. Scarper was worried about my toes.”
“I was not—” Well, he was, perhaps, worried about her toes. “If we were going, I would be worried about her toes, but we both like warm fires too much to actually make the journey.”
Mr. Garvis looked at them as if Matthew had just spoken in another language. Miss Shroud waved her arm in the air like a queen dismissing a servant. “Don’t mind Mr. Garvis.” She leaned over to Matthew, her chin raised so she could speak close to his ear. “He doesn’t understand the call of the Arctic.”
Then she strode forward, and he was left watching her march toward the door as if emerging from a ship, striding toward the frost and snow.
What a strange woman.
He shrugged in Mr. Garvis’s direction and followed her.
She was already climbing aboard the cart when he reached her. By the time he scurried up, she was sitting with her gloved hands in her lap. “Where to next?”
“Now that the roads are finally dry, we need to deliver those plow blades to the Ambrose farm.” He took Marge’s reins in his hands and, with one eye on Miss Shroud, he gave them a flick. “Mush!”
Her peal of laughter only lasted a moment, but that night while lying in bed, it still managed to ring in his ears. Miss Shroud had the kind of laugh that stuck with a person—the kind of laugh that brightened rooms and had grown men craning their necks to discover where it had come from.
And Matthew had been the one to unleash it.
CHAPTER 14
Mrs. Tucker pushedopen Lucy’s bedroom door and peeked inside. “Stop fussing with your hair. It’ll be hidden under your bonnet all day, anyway.”
“It won’t be hidden when I come home for supper.”
Mrs. Tucker stepped inside and put a hand on her hip. “Are you telling me you’re pinning your hair so perfectly for my sake?” Lucy smiled through the mirror at Mrs. Tucker. She was one to talk. She’d been into town twice since meeting Mr. Miner, and both times she’d been full of talk about soap.
“Are you certain you aren’t just badgering me because you need the mirror for yourself? Will I see you in town today?”
