Page 18 of What the Heart Knows

“I doubt Mr. Copefort will remain for very long and refusing refreshment, especially when you’ve already indicated I am at home, would be rude. Tell cook to supply the grand tea service we prepared for Father. I’m certain there will be plenty, should Father and his guest arrive while Mr. Copefort’s here.”

“As you say, miss.” The butler bowed and left.

She set the calling card on a side table then went to stand looking out the window at the rear gardens. The tree line was close enough for her to see the spot where she and Kit emerged after their mutual dunking. She rubbed her cheek with her fingertips, recalling the press of his damp shirt and the ripple of muscles across his back. Imagining those sensations was inappropriate, but the feelings now resided among her favorite memories.

***

Kit had spent the previous two days touring various properties near Fenwick on Sea and interviewing area residents. All the interviews led to the same conclusion, Squire Fenneman and his clerk managed the local smuggling trade. However, no one could or would provide any solid evidence. The frequency with which he imagined Meg’s lovely face and form distracted Kit from every conversation.

He'd tolerated the evasions and the personal distractions for two days. Two long days of personally enforced waiting before he allowed himself to act on her invitation to tea.

Now here he stood, at the entrance to the Sea Grange parlor beside the butler whose softly worded announcement of Kit’s arrival went unacknowledged.

“Ahem.” The butler cleared his throat. “Miss Fenneman, Mr. Copefort to see you.”

“Miss,” a feminine voice from the corner of the room called to the young lady.

Had she not spoken, Kit might not have noticed the maid discretely placed to chaperon his visit.

“Oh, forgive me.” Miss Fenneman spun about, pressing a hand to her chest. “I was wool-gathering. How very nice to see you again, Mr. Copefort.” She crossed the room and extended her hand to him. “I hope you’ve been enjoying the tours about Fenwick you mentioned when last I saw you at Mr. Beuth’s shop.”

He took the hint as he took her fingers and bowed over her hand. No mention of the Trout Creek events would escape his lips. “I’ve enjoyed the local scenery very much,” he murmured, straightening to fix his gaze with hers. “I’ve seen a number of properties I might find suitable for purchase.”

“Please have a seat,” she gestured toward a pair of settees facing each other across a low table. She ordered tea brought in then seated herself on one of the settees. “You must tell me about these properties. I’ll share with you what I know of them.”

Kit took the opposite seat. “You’re most kind to offer. I’ve visited an empty parcel just to the west of Trout Creek. The property has a rise where a house might have a lovely view of the trees and water yet stand far enough away to avoid any flood damage.”

“Do you favor this empty parcel over the other properties you visited?”

“I saw so many I’m not certain which I favor most. I can say that I now have a shorter list of locations I plan to re-visit.”

The tea arrived. “How do you take your tea?”

“Just as it comes, thank you.”

“Please have some cakes. Or a cucumber sandwich, our cook’s specialty.”

Kit took the smallest sandwich he could find, setting that plate to one side while he sipped his tea and waited for Miss Fenneman to serve herself.

“In addition to that empty parcel, I toured several other homes. Some were too poorly maintained for me to consider. One was too close to the harbor beach and small islands I understand smugglers like to use for bringing in their goods. I’ve no desire to become embroiled in that trade and any home so close to a well-known landing’s not for me. Of the remaining properties, Salt Hall, Wickham Manor, and Elmwood Chase all interest me.

“I know each of those. Salt Hall’s a bit farther north of Fenwick than you might want.

“What do you know of Wickham Manor and Elmwood Chase?” he asked.

“Both are fine properties.” She detailed their histories, including the death of one owner. Then explained what she knew of the lands to be purchased with the manors.

“Do you suppose superstition is the reason that manor’s empty?”

“Possibly. Are you superstitious, Mr. Copefort?”

“Not in the least.” He finished his sandwich and drank the last of his tea, setting the cup and saucer on a side table.

“Miss Fenneman, I doubt you are superstitious either,” Kit commented.

“Why would you say that?” She, too, put her tea aside.

“You dismissed the idea of a faery blessing on the local waters.”