Page 104 of A Lady’s Guide to Mystery and Mischief

“—will be waiting with open arms,” Helena said. “I know.”

Farah watched her retreating back, frozen in place until she saw Helena disappear into the carriage. It began its slow roll down the path, and she found herself unable to turn away from it.

She could feel Grey behind her, silent and reassuring. He didn’t rush her, nor did he speak. When the carriage faded from view, Farah’s shoulders slumped.

“Time to return to town, I suppose.”

Grey held his hand out to help her back into their vehicle. “She’ll be all right.”

Farah didn’t react to the gesture right away, turning her head to once again look at the darkness that had swallowed Helena whole. “I wonder if I’ll ever see her again.”

“Of course you will,” Grey said softly, his hand still awaiting hers.

Rather than argue, Farah took his words as the indisputable truth. Her logical mind knew there was nothing stopping her from visiting Helena in France. Her bleeding heart, however, tempted her with dramatics. Which, given the circumstances, seemed rather fair.

Finally, she took Grey’s hand and allowed him to help her into the carriage, plopping down onto the bench with a sigh. She hoped the journey back to London would put her in a less melancholic mood—God knew she had a confession of love to make before sunrise.

To her delight, Grey did not sit on the bench across from her. Instead, he sat by her, his solid presence providing her comfort and helping to steel her nerves. She wondered what words would best suit what she wanted to express, what she could possibly say to communicate the depth of her unwavering love.

“It’s strange that the summer should come to a close here,” she murmured. “Part of the way to Dover, I mean.”

“Not what you’d been expecting, I assume.”

“Not at all. I thought I’d end the summer married to Francis.”

Grey didn’t respond, but the muted expression on his face seemed to once again indicate to Farah that he had something to say.

“You’ve been very quiet,” she remarked.

“Have I?”

Farah began to pick at the buttons that ran down her bodice. “Yes. I can’t help but feel that you’ve something to tell me.”

Before he could speak, they were distracted by one of said buttons popping off her dress and rolling to the floor. Grey bent, somehow retrieving it in the near darkness to hold it up to the lantern that dangled from a hook on the carriage wall.

“Opal glass,” she told him. “I painted the butterflies on myself. I’ve always been partial to interesting buttons.”

“I know,” he said, pressing the item in question into her palm. “I’ve noticed.”

Farah curled her hand into a fist, pressing the button against her skin. His words, simple though they were, made her heart squeeze in her chest. It was true that they were nothing more than buttons, but he’d noticed. He saw her the way she’d always wanted to be seen—as herself, nothing more and nothing less. With him, there was no urge to hide or overcorrect.

With him, she could simply be.

“Thank you for coming with us,” she said, dropping the button into her reticule. “It would have been difficult for me to go at it alone whether or not Kalila and Oliver had been there to meet us.”

The fact was that she hadn’t brought Grey into the fold to exploit his ability to carry overstuffed trunks. She’d wanted him there for the sense of safety he brought with him, for his innate ability to assure her that all would be well. There was no doubt in her mind that she would have been able to bring Helena to her cousins alone. But why deprive herself of the support of the one person capable of easing her pain?

“You were right to do this,” he said. “Mrs. J—I shouldn’t call her that anymore.”

“It’ll be Miss Bamber now.”

“Miss Bamber deserved to have someone do right by her.”

Farah shrugged. “Everyone does.”

“I’m lucky,” he said, tripping over the words, “to be in the presence of someone who reminds me of that.”

Without responding, Farah nestled herself against him, grateful for his warmth. Grateful for everything that made Grey Montgomery the man he was. He lifted his arm to allow her to snuggle close, wrapping it around her shoulders in a tight, steady grip. In the quiet that followed, all Farah could hear was the rolling of the wheels beneath them mingling with the sound of Grey’s breathing. She thought about what Helena had said earlier—to write the minute Grey declared his love. Now, sitting so close, the scent of ink and paper sweeter than any perfume she had ever come across, she realized that she felt no uncertainty as to whether he loved her. That she had no frame of reference no longer mattered—she simply knew.