Page 93 of Bane Bloom

I burrowed into his chest, marveling at how warm and delicious all of this was. Seeking to regain the closeness I’d felt before unpleasant realities began to wedge themselves between us.

“Sleep if you can,” Thomas murmured drowsily. “We can talk of it when you wake.”

Thomas sat up suddenly, stirring me from sleep.

Dozy and confused, chilled by his sudden withdrawal, I murmured, “What is it?”

“You must rise, lass.”

I sat up, too, following his gaze out the window. I saw nothing unexpected—just the house, quiet and empty, and Fleetwith Pike beyond, its upper slopes hidden by mist. The day was gray, and I couldn’t be sure of the time. But considering we’d fallen asleep at dawn, it was likely well into the morning.

“Someone is approaching,” he said.

My eyes widened. “Who? Annie?”

“I don’t know, but I don’t think so. It’s a single rider.” He looked at me. “I think it best you’re in the house when they arrive.”

I bounded out of bed, because of course he was right. It would not do for someone to come calling and find us out here together.

But who can it be?

Thomas helped find my stockings, and I put them on along with my shoes, then attempted to brush wrinkles from my skirt while he reclosed hooks and buttons that had come open at my back. His fingers left trails of sparks, despite my panic.

Annie had wished me to return for the maypole today; perhaps she had sent someone. But they’d bring a cart, wouldn’t they?

A single rider. What if it was . . . Hamish.

I went to the dresser and splashed my face with water from the basin, using more to smooth my mussed hair. Then I re-coiled the plait that had escaped its pins.

I was on the verge of flying out the door when I looked back at Thomas. Our gazes held a moment, and the stillness was pronounced after the flurry of activity. How I hated rushing out like this. We might have breakfasted together and talked over what had happened—and what it meant.

“Go, lass,” he said.

I flung open the door and dashed up the sloping lawn to the kitchen, breathless by the time I got there. I filled a glass with water from a pitcher on the worktable and gulped it down.

I heard the tapping of a cane on the front door.

I took a deep breath, ran my hands over my hair and down the front of my skirt, then exchanged Prudence’s shawl for my own from the stair railing before opening the door.

Outside I found not Hamish, but . . .

“Mr. Harding!”

“Good morning, Miss Gray.” The gentleman smiled, his rounded, gray eyes clear and placid. “By your expression, I see that I’ve preceded my letter notifying you of my planned visit to Pine Cottage.”

I rallied my faculties as best I could. “Indeed you have, sir, but this is an honor. Please come inside.”

I kept the smile fixed on my lips while my mind reeled. What on earth was he doing here? I’d barely been at my posting a week.

Suddenly I recalled the letter and illustration I’d sent to him. So much had happened since then, it felt like weeks ago. But that was only Saturday. Based on what the carrier had told me, there had been time for Harding to receive the letter and come here, but only just. It seemed I’d been far more successful in piquing his interest than I’d thought possible.

Whatever was I to do now?

Breathe slower, and try to clear your mind enough to figure it out.

As Harding came inside, setting his cane against the wall and hanging his hat on the tree, I heard Thomas lighting the stove in the kitchen.

“I’ve been at work all morning,” I lied, “and have yet to make coffee. Shall I go and make us a pot? Or tea, if you prefer?”