Page 8 of Bane Bloom

She held the tray to her chest, thinking. “Only that it’s a very old house—older than Mr. Bane, who moved to Buttermere from London for his health and fixed the place up. He was one of the apothecaries, and they let him have money for the building of the glasshouse so he could keep on with his work. When he died, his grown daughter continued to live there alone for some years before Thomas came along.”

I frowned. “The groundskeeper?”

She cast a glance back toward the kitchen before stepping closer to the table. “He’s more than a groundskeeper; he’s Miss Bane’s son. She was good with the plants, like her father. It’s why the apothecaries let her go on living there after Mr. Bane died. Since her death a few years ago, Thomas has kept it up.”

I felt like I was missing something. “What happened to Thomas’s father?”

Her cheeks bloomed. “No one knows who his father is.”

My mouth hung half open for a moment before I said, “Ah.”

Apparently the groundskeeper and I had something in common. Or rather we lacked something in common. Though my parents had been properly wed.

“And what is he like? Thomas.”

Her gaze drifted toward the fire as she said, “Well . . .”

The door to the inn opened, and a man stepped inside. He wore a sturdy wool coat and a faded flat cap. He was tall and broad, his frame filling the doorway. He closed the door behind him, and then his eyes came to me.

For a moment we stared at each other. Though likely no more than the space of a breath, it seemed to go on and on, and my heart began to thump.

Finally, in a predictably deep voice, he said, “Miss Gray?”

Thomas?

The reality of him knocked me back a little. Since he was the grandson of the house’s original owner, I’d imagined him to be younger. Not much past boyhood. No, indeed, there was nothing boyish about him. Likely he was six or eight years older than I. And the sheer size of him!

“Come in, Thomas,” Annie called, smiling at him. “Miss Gray got a good soaking on the road from Keswick, and she’s been warming herself by the fire.”

His eyes moved between us. “I’ll load her trunks and wait outside until she’s ready.”

“You’re welcome to wait inside out of the rain,” Annie protested. “I can bring you tea, or a pint if you’d prefer.”

He touched his hat brim, replying, “Thank you, ma’am.” But he opened the door, eyes just grazing my face before he stepped back out.

As the door closed behind him, I realized I was holding my breath.

I blinked, puzzled by my own confusion, and looked at Annie. She was studying me, a glint of curiosity in her gaze.

I cleared my throat and sat up. While I wasn’t eager to leave her company or the warmth of the inn, I also didn’t feel I should leave Thomas to wait in the rain.

“I’m very grateful for your kindness, Annie,” I said, rising from the table. “And for the information you’ve shared with me.”

“Think nothing of it, love.”

I reached into a pocket for some coins, and hearing them clink together, she said, “Now, I won’t take your money, Miss Gray. You are very welcome to the neighborhood, and I hope to see you again soon.”

Smiling, I replied, “I’d like that.”

Outside, the rain had slackened. Thomas stood next to a stocky bay pony hitched to a cart. The mare’s mane and leg feathering were thick and black. Thomas’s hand rested on her neck, and he turned as I approached. I offered a nervous smile, which he seemed to ignore, and he came to give me a hand up to the seat.

“I’m sorry you’ve had to wait,” I said.

“I haven’t,” was his flat reply. He walked around and climbed up beside me, taking hold of the reins. Flicking them, he clucked to the mare.

Well! I hardly knew what to make of the man. Though he’d given me a good looking over inside the inn, it was plain enough he had no further interest in me. His taciturn presence kept me quiet and facing forward.

I’d gotten a better look at him as he helped me up to the seat. His size was even more imposing up close. His hair and beard were thick and dark chestnut in color, and his complexion had gold tones and fine lines from sun exposure.