Page 50 of A Lady of Conscience

Her eyes briefly met his as they continued down the path. Her gaze was soft with understanding. “Was it at school that you learned to wield such control over your emotions?”

A frown creased his brow. “I don’t know. Probably.”

“I begin to think you had a difficult time there.”

His mouth twisted in a fleeting, humorless smile. “Everyone has a difficult time at school. Young boys are savages. They grow into unpleasant men. One can either learn to ignore it or else spend his days in an endless succession of brawls over his family’s honor.”

“Is that what the trouble was? Your family?”

“In my case? Yes. For the most part. Paley and Fennick greatly enjoyed baiting me on the subject.”

“Lord Fennick?” she repeated. “I wasn’t aware you were at school with him.”

“It didn’t bear mentioning.”

“He’s here today. He was sitting with Miss Paley on her picnic blanket.”

James looked at her. “So long as he wasn’t sitting with you.”

A soft flush crept up her throat. “Indeed not. I did dance with him once, but that was quite enough. Now I know he was unpleasant to you, I shall take pains to avoid him.”

James was touched by her show of loyalty. It was yet another small proof that she was coming to care for him. He marked it well, adding it to the other evidence he’d been collecting. Taken altogether it surely had to weigh in his favor.

“Who were you sharing your picnic blanket with, then?” he asked her.

“Lady Carleton,” she answered.

“Perhaps you will permit me to join you when we return?”

The blush at her throat suffused into her cheeks in a delicate, watercolor stain. “I would like that.”

James’s blood warmed. He felt at once both besotted by and profoundly protective of her. He covered her hand with his on his arm. “Have you eaten yet?”

“Not yet, no,” she said. “I had not accounted for all the cold meats being brought. It’s been difficult to find anything that hasn’t mingled with them in the picnic hampers.”

“I’ll find something for you when we return,” he promised her.

She gave him a grateful smile. “An orange would suffice.”

“You shall have one,” he vowed.

The church loomed ahead. James led Hannah into what remained of the churchyard. It was overrun with grass and thorny bushes and brambles. Crooked headstones peeped out from the overgrowth. The graves were hundreds of years old, the chiseled names of their occupants worn to near invisibility over the centuries.

Hannah let go of his arm in order to clutch her skirts. She raised them above her ankles as they picked their way through the graveyard. “It doesn’t seem right for the church to be abandoned. Not when people are still buried here.”

“The villagers could hardly hold services without a roof.”

“They could repair it.”

“They’ve no incentive to do so. There’s a church in the next village that fits the purpose. I presume most of them attend services there.”

She gazed up at the tower. “Can we go inside?”

“If you wish.”

“Is it safe?”

“Safe enough.” James offered his hand to her to assist her over the stones. She took it. “Mind your head. The ceiling is rather low.”