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Slowly, stealthily, she turned to face him, trying to muster the courage to steal a peek under the quilt. However, her carnal investigations were set aside when she glimpsed his face.
He looked so different in his sleep. Less troubled, more vulnerable. She stroked the thick, tawny hair back from his brow.
There it was, the tiny sunburst scar just beneath his hairline.
She remembered the night he’d been given that wound. Mary had been the only one awake, sitting in the kitchen with a cup of tea and reading over some papers. Sebastian had stumbled into the house well past midnight, his eye blackened and blood streaming from his hairline down to his chin.
Mary had set her work aside at once. She’d cleaned his wounds and applied a poultice to his blackened eye. He’d told her he’d been in a fight—someone he knew from Cambridge. But the story was just a story. He knew she’d noticed the remarkable similarity between the sunburst cut on his brow and the sunburst shape of his father’s signet ring.
And she knew Sebastian had noticed the work that kept her up late. She’d been correcting the errors in contracts her father had drawn up for a client. That was the time when his mind had just begun to fail.
They had these little secrets, the two of them. Always unspoken, and yet always understood.
She pressed a kiss to his scar.
He stretched and yawned, then turned to stare up at the roof above. “I was hoping this cottage had been a nightmare.” He rose from bed and went to retrieve his trousers. “I’m going to walk Shadow into the village and find the smithy. Once he’s been shoed, I’ll ride back and we’ll leave for Ramsgate at once.” He pulled his shirt over his head. “Stay abed. Get some more sleep.”
Mary nodded in drowsy agreement and drew the quilt up to her chin.
However, the moment the door closed behind him, she jumped out of bed. She excavated her simplest, plainest frock from the depths of her trunk, dressed in haste, and had a look around the cottage.
Last night, she hadn’t explored any of it, aside from the kitchen and the small room she now understood to be Dick and Fanny’s bedchamber.
The cottage wasn’t large, and it had been sorely neglected, but with a bit of work it could be a charming home. Downstairs, she explored a parlor with a large fireplace ideal for cozy nights in, and a dining room nowhere near large enough for a party, but more than sufficient for two.
A library rounded out the ground floor, and it was Mary’s favorite room yet. Bookshelves covered the walls from floor to ceiling, and a massive mahogany desk lodged by the window, issuing a dare:Just you try to budge me.
She’d no desire to make the attempt.
Instead, she took a seat at the desk and ran her palms over the glossy wood. When she inhaled, her lungs filled with the scents of leather and tobacco and old books. A powerful wave of memories crashed through her.
The library was so much like Papa’s.
Henry had never taken an interest in the law, but Mary had loved watching their father work. She’d steal out of bed on nights when she couldn’t sleep, tiptoeing through the house to his study. There, she’d find him poring over a legal reference or a making notes on a contract. He didn’t scold her or chase her back to bed. Instead, he’d take her onto his lap and explain whatever task lay before him—in simple, but never condescending, language.
Her father had believed girls should be educated in all the same subjects as boys, and he’d encouraged Mary to form her own opinions and share them with confidence.
Most importantly, he’d always made time for her.
Sadly, his time on earth had been much too short. She missed him every day.
Swallowing back the lump in her throat, she left the study and made her way up the stairs to explore the cottage’s bedchambers. There were three in total. Two small rooms, and a larger one for the master and mistress of the house.
She went to the window and opened it wide. A breathtaking view greeted her. The blue-green sea, frosted with whitecaps and sparkling with sunshine.
Beautiful.
She pressed a hand to her heart. In no time at all, she’d fallen in love with this cottage. It was the perfect place for a honeymoon.
They would not be leaving for Ramsgate today. Not if she had anything to say about it. However, if she meant to convince Sebastian, she had no time to waste.
She went outside and found the well. Once she’d drawn a full pail of water, she took it in both hands and—rather than carrying it inside the cottage—proceeded directly to the barn, where Dick and Fanny Cross lay snoring atop a mound of straw.
She dashed the water over them. “Wake up.”
The caretaker and his wife jolted to life, sputtering.
“You will not find me an easy mistress to please,” Mary said, “but at the moment I am your best friend. If you want any hope of keeping your posts, you’d best rouse yourselves and prepare to work your fingers to nubs. Do you understand me?”
