As he turned to leave, Mrs. Garvis tugged on his elbow. He glanced back at her. “Miss Shroud seems very happy to spend time with you.”
“I am helping her with her father’s company.” His words came out hard.
“It means more than that to her. When she speaks your name, she does it with a smile.”
“Mrs. Garvis, we need to spend another few days together.” How could he say this delicately? “Please don’t…”
“Oh, I won't speak a word to anyone. But I see how you look at her too. It reminds me of when I met Mr. Garvis. There was always something special between us. We couldn't look at each other like other people do. There was always a smile, a bit of interest, a connection between us. That isn’t something you find every day.”
“Mrs. Garvis, her family is wealthy and I drive a cart.”
Mrs. Garvis shrugged as if he’d told her one of his deliveries had arrived five minutes late but it was no problem. “Have you asked her if she minds that?”
If Matthew were home alone, he would groan and sink into his bed. It was one thing to fantasize about a situation that could never be when he was home alone, but now Mrs. Garvis was insinuating something similar? How was he going to make it through the rest of this day? The rest of the week? He wasn’t going to ask Miss Shroud anything of the sort. He was engaged to be married. “Goodbye, Mrs. Garvis.”
He turned on his heel and returned to the cart without glancing at Miss Shroud. He sat down beside her, leaving more space between them than typical, and didn’t speak, keeping his head forward. Twice she tried to start a conversation, but both times, he kept his eyes on the road in front of them and answered with one-word answers.
She gave up on trying to coax words out of him and became silent.
A moment later, she scooted a few inches closer to him.
He scooted to his left.
She scooted again.
He hadn’t started in the center of the bench, since he hadn’t wanted to sit too close to her, and now he was almost to the outer edge, Marge’s reins slanting heavily to the right.
He should have complained or handed her the reins and allowed her to drive the cart, but instead he kept his peace. Complaining would lead to speaking, and speaking to Miss Shroud had become much too enjoyable. What new little phrase would she say that would have him wanting to grin long after he left her? And handing her the reins might lead to their hands touching, and after seeing her being so lovely with Mandy—touching was the last thing they should do.
By the time they reached Mr. Bennion’s home, his back ached from leaning to his left. He pulled Marge to a stop directly in front of the door.
“Good night, Miss Shroud,” he said, without moving to get out of the cart.
“Good night.” Her response was slow and questioning. She probably thought he was upset with her for some reason, but that was better than her knowing the truth. He knew she cared for someone else, he knew his life was already planned out for him, and Miss Shroud didn’t have a place in it. But still, he no longer trusted himself around her.
Miss Shroud slid to the opposite side of the cart, and the tension in his shoulders eased. She took her first step down the side of the cart and then froze, letting out a squeak as if she were in pain.
Blast.Nowwhat was wrong? He leaned toward her. “What is it?”
One hand flew to her eye. “Somethin’ landed in my eye,” she said. “Somethin’ big, I think.” Her voice raised an octave in panic. “’Tis movin’. Something is inside my eye, and ’tismoving.”
Matthew groaned, but he scrambled down his side of the cart and came around to her side. She’d probably had a bug land in it. He should just tell her to find her way inside and have Mrs. Tucker help her. But as much as he wanted this evening to be over so he could return to the quiet of his room, he couldn’t let her stumble blindly to the front door. “Come down so I can look at it.”
“I can’t see,” she argued, as if he should have known better.
If Miss Shroud heard his second groan, she didn’t mention it. He steeled himself against feeling anything, then set one hand at her waist and the other below the elbow of the hand covering her eye. She shimmied down the cart, her skirts brushing against his legs while he carefully guided her down the last step. The instant her feet touched the ground he stepped away from her and allowed himself to draw a breath. But, he should have stepped farther away, because her bright, floral scent infiltrated his senses. Between that and the feel of her cotton bodice still burned into his mind, he felt like he was losing a battle that he no longer understood why he was fighting.
“There,” he said gruffly. “Now let me look at it.”
She stepped forward, her neck craned upward until she was pressed against him again. Heavens. How much temptation could one man handle? Didn’t she know what kind of power a woman like her had over men? Did she think that just because he wore rough clothes, drove a cart, and worked very hard to avoid speaking to her more than necessary, that he wouldn’t be affected by being alone with her in the fading light while she stared up at him as if waiting for him to put his arms around her and kiss her?
He shouldn’t be attracted to a woman this oblivious to social constructs, but her openness and trust of him only managed to make him wish to be around her more. And he was already around her more than he’d been with anyone, perhaps, ever.
Miss Shroud pulled her fingers away from her eye one by one until her afflicted eye came into view. She dropped her hand to her side and opened both eyes wide. “Do ye see anything?”
There was no redness or swelling, and nothing seemed to be crawling or flying anywhere near either one of her eyes. They were the same deep brown outlined in heavy lashes that they’d always been. “No.”
She lifted her heels off of the ground and placed both of her hands on his shoulders. “Are ye certain?”
