Leavenworth just nodded. “There were half a dozen of us, but Francis was the one who dared to go and tell Alcott.”
“I see. So much is clear now.” Or not clear at all.
“Well!” Leavenworth let his fists drop onto the table. “I don’t!”
Overwrought and surprised, Celia began to giggle, and pressed her hand to her mouth. “I’m sorry—I didn’t mean—”
Leavenworth shook his head, smiling. “My youngest sister always laughed when she was upset, too. You tell me what tickled you, and I’ll tell you why I lost my temper.”
That did it, and Celia dissolved into laughter.
“That was the most restrained temper-losing—”
Leavenworth passed over his handkerchief.
“You just”—Celia mimed dropping her own hands—“but if Peter had been here, he would have knocked his chair, paced back and forth across the room at least six times, and picked up every china shepherdess in the entire room and put them back down again.” Her giggles abruptly turned mournful, as hysterical giggles are wont to do, and Celia pressed the handkerchief to her eyes.
“Very well. Now I’m calm, and you tell me.”
“He is safe, Mrs. Alcott. He’s not taking any risks.”
She just wanted Peterback, hopefully without a secret wife. She could manage the natural daughter. “Do you know where he is?”
“I don’t. And that’s what’s strange, Mrs. Alcott…”
Leavenworth paused for so long that Celia thought he was done. She ought to be grateful that he had shared so much. She ought to be grateful that Peter had left word that she was allowed to see the account books.
Leavenworth clasped his hands, a slow breath that was not quite a sigh. “I haven’t realized, until these last days with you, how little I know about Alcott. We have talked about everythingunder the sun. But now I realize that he was always holding back. He gave me details but never let me see the full picture. I don’t think I’m a fool, but it’s strange that I know so little about his family, and nothing about his home.” He smiled, but it was tired.
“How unfair, asking you to take a job without even knowing where you are headed!” Celia should not think about herself. The only honest course of action would be to release Leavenworth from his contract, effective immediately. He would ride off to assuage his boredom elsewhere, and she would be alone in this…wherever they were.
“Alcott would never be unfair to me. Never.” Leavenworth smiled, warmer this time. He rose and patted Celia on the shoulder, easy and brotherly. “I’m just thankful that Alcott has found someone who esteems him as much as I do. You are good for him. Now then, shall we go find you those hundred pairs of boots?”
“One pair would satisfy me for the day. Thank you.” Celia accepted his hand to assist her to her feet, but then waved him off. She could make it to her room.
But she could never love him as much as Leavenworth did.
She wasn’t good at loving any longer.
Chapter Thirty-Three
The Rain, It Raineth Every Day
Remembering what Celiawould do, Peter called for a pot of warming tisane to be brought to their parlor.
“Sorry,” he warned the men. “No whiskey. We don’t know if we’re done for the night.” Inebriated men walked into duck ponds. Peter had experience.
“No problem, guv’nor.” JC had laid out Peter’s outerwear to dry in front of the fire.
“They were supposed to be here over an hour ago,” Peter said, pacing. “They had a much shorter distance to cover.” He couldn’t keep the irritation out of his voice; you just keep going. They were all grown men here.
“We’ll saddle up again iffen we need to.” Marsh’s voice was muffled in a giant wool jumper until his head popped through. “Don’ worry, sir.”
“You’re good fellows. I’d put you up for promotion, if there were one.”
Leavenworth had found Marsh recently, but JC had been Leavenworth’s batman and stuck with him after the war. Peter was honored that both of them had agreed that JC would go on this mission. A battered man of middle years and many talents, JC had been born enslaved on a Caribbean sugar plantation, and earned his freedom by fighting Napoleon. He had earned Peter’s respect by his unswerving loyalty to Leavenworth—not tomention, someone around here needed to know how to iron a neckcloth.
“I’m shut of the army and so-called rewards,” JC grumbled. “We’re doing this for herself.”
