Page 2 of Fair as a Star

“Only just. I was passing and saw the doors open. I thought…” Beryl trailed off, feeling all at once the impulsiveness of her gesture. Mark wasn’t happy to see her. That was plain enough. His mouth was smiling, but his eyes definitely were not. “Forgive the interruption.”

“Not at all. Mrs. Doolittle and I are quite finished.”

Mrs. Doolittle looked from Beryl to Mark and back again. She was a petite white-haired lady, clad in unrelieved black crepe. Her eyes were as sharp as a hunting hawk’s behind her wire-rimmed spectacles, forever scanning about for fresh morsels of tittle-tattle. “Over a year in Paris,” she remarked. “A pleasure trip, I’m told.”

“It was.” Beryl forced a smile. “My aunt and I had a marvelous time.”

Mrs. Doolittle sniffed. “You missed the funeral. But that’s none of my business.” She inclined her head to Mark. “Mr. Rivenhall. Good day.”

“Good day, ma’am.”

Beryl bit her tongue until Mrs. Doolittle had exited the church.

“You mustn’t mind her,” Mark said.

“I never have. I’m not likely to start now.”

“No, indeed.” He took a step closer to her, only to come to an awkward halt. His fingers pushed through his already disheveled hair, his smile turning a little rueful. “I wish I’d known you were coming.”

“Didn’t Henry tell you? I mentioned it to him when last I wrote. I’d have written to you as well, but—”

“It wasn’t necessary.”

“Did you receive my last letter?”

“I did. Thank you.”

She came closer to him. “And thank you. All of the letters you wrote to me—”

“They were only trifles.”

“‘Trifles make the sum of life,’” she quoted to him. It was from David Copperfield. She and Mark shared a love of Mr. Dickens’s novels. It was how they’d first become friends. “Your letters were very welcome. They entertained me to no end. I believe I read the one about Mrs. Jenkins’s nephew and the pony a dozen times. It never failed to make me laugh.”

“I’m glad I could amuse you.”

If Beryl didn’t know him better, she might have imagined there was a trace of coolness in his words. She searched his face. “You look well.”

“And you…” One hand lifted in a vague gesture, only to fall back to his side. He cleared his throat. “You look—”

“Yes, I know. Rather worse for wear.” She gave her rumpled skirts a shake. “Aunt Hortensia warned me not to come in. She said I wasn’t fit to be seen. But I had to see you. I wanted to tell you how much I appreciated your letters over the past year, and the fact that you never…you never—”

“What?”

“You never reproached me for not being here for Jack’s funeral.”

Mark’s brows lowered. He took another step toward her. “Has Henry done so?”

“Not in so many words, but I know I disappointed him. I daresay it seemed like I didn’t care, leaving as abruptly as I did. I’m afraid he was hurt by my absence.”

“Henry will survive. If it’s any comfort, he hardly noticed my presence at the funeral, let alone your absence. A year from now he won’t remember who was there and who wasn’t, nor will any of the villagers.”

“I hope you’re right.”

“Have you seen him yet?” Mark asked.

Beryl shook her head. “I haven’t even been home. Aunt Hortensia went ahead with the carriage. I’m to walk the rest of the way to the Grange.”

His gaze held hers. “You came here first?”