“Where can I find pen and paper?” I asked.
“Mistress keeps that in her study. I’ll go fetch it for you after I’m done here. Shall I bring it to your room?”
“If you wouldn’t mind. Thank you. Can we help you with anything?” I held out my hands to take the plates in her arms.
She smiled and shook her head. “No, Miss. This is my job. There’s no shortage of things to do on the estate.” Her small chuckle made me smile as she went to the kitchen with the stack of dishes.
Patrice clucked her tongue. “I’m going to help her,” she said before starting toward the kitchen. She turned back, then, and nodded toward the entryway. “I saw Mr. Anderson at the front door last. Ye should talk while ye wait.”
She went into the kitchen and I turned toward the entryway. Butterflies collected in my stomach as I thought about approaching Graham again. What would I say to him now that the danger had passed and we were on solid land? Without something like surviving to occupy us, how would we move forward?
Graham stood on the porch, speaking with Mr. Ashby. It had been three long years since I’d seen them next to each other like that. They seemed to be speaking casually, as if perfectly comfortable with each other. This strange situation must be easier for Mr. Ashby than for me. A male friend was much simpler to accept, probably, than a rejected woman who’d sacrificed everything to find her betrothed. I pulled in a deep breath and then let it go slowly before walking outside. I hoped to catch something they were saying, but as I approached, the conversation stopped.
“Miss Findlay,” Mr. Ashby greeted as he turned to me. His eyes widened as he took in my long hair. “You’ve let your hair down.”
I took hold of a handful of strands and ran it through my fingers. “Don’t you think it’s the perfect place to let our hair down?” He hadn’t. His long, blond hair had been neatly tied back. Grinning, I shifted my gaze from Mr. Ashby to Graham. “What were you speaking of?”
“Nothing in particular,” Graham responded. He regarded me for a moment, taking in my appearance, from what I could tell. “You seem very different now.”
I nearly gasped. “You…remember me?”
His expression immediately hardened, and I could almost see a wall being erected between us. “No, I meant since the ship. If you’ll excuse me, I’m needed at the mission.”
He left, and I regretted jumping to conclusions. This would never work if I continued to make him uncomfortable. I’d thought we would be able to speak once we left theMaelstrom. The conversation we’d had in his cabin made me think he’d want to, but from his quick dismissal, it seemed that was not the case. I would have to gain his trust before trying to jog his memory.
Mr. Ashby sighed, probably interpreting my emotions accurately. “Don’t worry, Miss Findlay. He doesn’t want to disappoint you. You know how he is.”
I met his eyes. “Do I?”
“Of course you do. He’s still Graham, even without his memories.” He gave me a comforting smile.
“He is just so altered. He was always serious, but still…warm, welcoming.” Shaking my head, I walked toward the garden I’d seen earlier. Mr. Ashby followed, as I expected he would.
“So what were you speaking about?” I asked him.
“You, actually.” He met my gaze and I noticed his eyes were different than usual. There was a strange hesitation in them. I hadn’t seen an expression like that since Edleroy.
“I absolutely demand that you elaborate.” I crossed my arms and watched him expectantly.
He laughed. “I will.” Then his face dropped slightly and I saw tension around his eyes. “I just wasn’t sure…if you’d want to hear it.”
“It’s like you don’t know me at all.” I smirked.
He nodded. We had reached the garden and began walking in a circle as if in the pump room in Bath. “He asked if you were actually betrothed.”
“He doesn’t believe me?” Exasperation laced my tone.
“I wouldn’t say that. He just wanted to be sure, I think. He wanted to know how long you’d been engaged and why you’d come to get him personally.” He stopped and bent down, plucking a large yellow flower. He handed it to me as naturally as if he’d done so a hundred times before.
But he had never given me flowers before. We had never been in a position where he could do so. The only gift he’d given me was a pistol. Somehow, this flower seemed to convey a new kind of closenessbetween us. I held the flower between two fingers and smelled it. Sweet. Aromatic. Like an expensive cologne.
“What did you tell him?” I asked, holding the flower delicately.
He had been watching me appreciate his gift, seeming pleased with my reaction to it. “I said you were a uniquely determined woman who would do anything for those she loves.”
A slow smile spread across my face as I looked at him. “Of course you would use the wordunique. It’s almost like a compliment, with aslightedge of disapproval.” I held up two fingers pinched tightly together.
He laughed. “Youareunique. It’s not a criticism. It’s a truth no one can deny.”
