Her eyebrow lifted. “Why do ye say ‘at the moment?’”
Blast. Of course his family shouldn’t have more than one place of residence, and the way he’d answered made it sound like they did. Couldn’t Marge go any faster? If he flicked her reins, would Miss Shroud notice his hurry? “They haven’t always lived in the same place. We moved around while I was growing up.” That was the truth, even if the two places they moved to and from were always Bridgewater House and their London home.
“Was that difficult?” she asked.
“Nothing about my life was difficult. Not while I was young, anyway.” That wasn’t exactly true, but compared to the lives most people lived, and whatever story Miss Shroud was concocting in her head, it was basically true. But he’d had to pay a price for the luxury of growing up where things were more important than people, and reputation and appearances mattered more than reality. He’d been a fool, and he hadn’t even realized it. Not until Sally Duncan saw it in him. Even then, if his parents hadn’t tried to marry him off to a child, he might never have understood exactly what was wrong with the way he’d been living.
He pulled up to the millinery and, for a second, he thought Miss Shroud might join him. She looked as though she would like to know more about his family. For the briefest moment he wished he could tell her all about what an idiot he’d been growing up, and the mess he’d gotten himself into. Miss Shroud seemed to be the kind of person that would have much better ideas about how to deal with his situation than running away.
But she didn’t. She went into the bookstore, as always, and he tamped down his disappointment. It wasn’t as if he would actually tell her about his life.
They continued the rest of their deliveries that day without any more talk of family. He wanted to ask about hers. He was still baffled that they would allow her to come to Fenswallow and spend so much time with him alone. But it wasn’t worth the risk of having to speak of his family in return.
Instead, they made a packing list for their Arctic adventures. Hers included ridiculous things like Mrs. Tucker’s porridge and a bathing dress, on the off chance they came upon some thermal springs. No matter how many times he told her they would not find thermal springs in the Arctic, she wouldn’t listen. “After all, isn’t that the reason we would go there? To explore? Who knows what we would find?”
“In that case,” he’d replied, “I should pack my lawn boules in case we come across a bowling green.”
Miss Shroud’s eyes lit up. “Definitely pack yer boules. Can ye imagine the joy of bowlin’ in the Arctic?”
“I may have to sacrifice a few mundane things in order for them to fit. Are we absolutely certain I would need a shelter?”
“Probably not. If for some bizarre reason we did need it, ye could share mine.”
The light banter of the moment froze into an Arctic wilderness. He could see the moment Miss Shroud realizedexactly what she’d said, for her eyes widened, and she clamped her mouth down tight.
He was going to have to pay for that offhand comment of hers that night, while lying in bed revisiting their conversations, as he did every night lately. But for now, he didn’t want to lose the enjoyment of their budding friendship. “You say that as if you hadn’t heard that the only thing I’m better at than delivering goods is building snow huts. Don’t you worry about me. I’ll be toasty and warm inside my hollowed-out snow cave with my trusty lawn boules.”
She laughed in relief, then shook her head in the dejected way one does when they’ve lost a card game because they’d been bluffing. “We should never actually go to the Arctic. If we did, we’d be lucky to return home at all, let alone with all our toes intact.”
“You might be right,” he sighed overdramatically, and then perked up. “But I think the question we need to ask ourselves is, how importantaretoes, exactly?”
“I rather like mine.”
“But what do they do for you?”
She tipped her head to one side and looked as though she was pondering the question seriously. “Well, I think they aid in walkin’.”
“A minor detail.”
“Without them, my shoes would be much too large.”
Matthew pressed his lips down hard to keep from laughing. “Ah, well that would be disastrous. Perhaps you’re correct, and the two of us should stay in Fenswallow.”
Her smile dropped and she looked down at her hands in her lap. “In England, at any rate.”
His own grin faded, and he stopped talking and just watched Marge march forward in her slow and steady way. After a few moments he turned to her. “How much longer will you be here?”
“Counting down the days until you are rid of me?”
So he could go back to just being him and Marge all day together, only using his voice when he dropped off a package? “No.” He glanced at her quickly. “Surprisingly, I’m not.”
“Four more days,” she answered softly.
Four more days. Four short days, and she would be gone from his life forever.
They finished their deliveries early, and Matthew asked if they could stop at the Garvis home to give Mandy her ribbons. It was no surprise to him that Miss Shroud brightened at the prospect.
When they arrived, Mandy and Mrs. Garvis were in the front garden preparing soil for more flowers. Mandy jumped up and ran toward the cart as soon as she saw them. She waved at Miss Shroud first and then with her hand excitedly fisted by her face she turned to him. “Did you find brown?”
