Chapter 5
Caroline watched Mr. Duffy’s approach from her upstairs bedroom window.
The current loose-fitting style of men’s fashion hung like windless sails from his thin frame, but his height granted him an advantage.
Even at a timorous pace, his long strides carried him up the path from the road in moments.
He paused at the base of the porch steps, adjusting his tie and smoothing his coat.
Caroline turned away from the window when he disappeared under the awning and listened to her father’s deep voice echoing in the foyer, welcoming Walsh with a friendly tone. Pausing for one last check of her appearance, she stepped out onto the upper landing and descended the stairs.
“Miss Bennet,” Walsh said when she entered the parlor. “Thank you for allowing me to call on you.”
“Of course, Mr. Duffy,” she replied with a smile borne of courtesy rather than delight. “Chatting with you will make for a pleasant afternoon.”
A look of disappointment flitted across his face—her indifference clearly hadn’t been lost on him—but it faded to acceptance instead of sparking anger.
She gestured to indicate her eldest and youngest brothers, engaged in a fervent game of chess. “These are my brothers, Simon and Knox.”
The youths raised their heads long enough to smile and utter greetings that were promptly returned.
“There’s a third named Landon,” Caroline went on, “but he spends most of his time at the stables.”
“A worthy pastime,” Walsh remarked.
Caroline’s mother carried a tea tray into the room and set it on the low table, next to a tiered stand full of miniature sandwiches and cakes. “Welcome to our home, Mr. Duffy,” she greeted with a bright smile.
“Thank you, Mrs. Bennet. I hope my visit hasn’t put you to too much trouble.”
“Not at all. I thought you and Caroline might enjoy some refreshments.”
“I’d be pleased to have you join us.”
“I’m tempted, but I’m afraid I must decline. I have some pressing correspondence to which I must attend.”
Caroline bit her tongue and schooled her face. The correspondence in question was not that pressing. Nudging her to socialize was one thing. Outright matchmaking was entirely another.
“The same is true for me,” her father interjected.
Et tu, pater?
“Once again, good to meet you, Duffy,” he went on, shaking Walsh’s hand. “Give my regards to your aunt.”
“I will.”
Caroline refreshed her courteous smile and gestured at the settee, as her parents decamped to their respective sanctums. “How do you like your tea, Mr. Duffy?”
He accepted her invitation but waited until she’d perched on one end before taking a seat at the other.
“Cream and sugar, if you please. If you can spare it, I mean. Commodities are still scarce. I wouldn’t want to burden your family unnecessarily.
Not that it would—I didn’t mean to intimate poverty!
Oh, dear. I sincerely hope I haven’t given offense. ”
“Not at all,” Caroline said, trying not to stare at his bright red ears. “Many families are suffering,” she went on as she unfolded her napkin and spread it across her lap. “My father deals mostly in leather goods, so we fared better than most.”
She prepared their tea then handed him a small plate and gestured for him to choose from the food on offer. When he didn’t, she lifted the tiered stand and held it out to him. “Help yourself. I insist.”
He took two cheddar and roast beef sandwiches, though his gaze caressed the rest as if he desired to polish off every last crumb.
Caroline held the stand steady. “Are you sure you won’t take more? My mother’s molasses cakes are a town favorite. Her cucumber sandwiches are, as well.”
“You’ve convinced me.” He added one of each to his plate.
Caroline chose a single cucumber sandwich for herself but let it sit in favor of her tea.
Walsh set down his plate then tested the temperature of his tea and took a sip, his gaze darting around behind his spectacles, as if he were searching for something to say. “Would it be too forward of me to comment on your dress—how flattering that deep shade of green is to your complexion?”
“No. And thank you.” Only sunlight could reveal her auburn highlights. Indoors, her hair appeared plain coffee-brown. The only benefit of being so profoundly brunette was that it provided the necessary balance for dark colors and deep jewel tones.
Caroline made a quick perusal of her visitor’s attire but could find nothing worthy of a pointed compliment. Remarking that his clothes were clean, pressed, and in good repair would sound silly at best, and—at worst—like a patronizing snub.
The exposed parts of his person were another matter. It was impossible not to notice Mr. Duffy’s hands in such close quarters with his gloves removed. Though they were masculine and proportionate, they were pale and free of calluses.
Caroline lifted her cup to her lips and paused. “Did you serve in the war?”
“I did not,” he replied with no indication of embarrassment. “I was exempt, because I provided the sole support of my widowed mother.”
“Oh. Will she be coming to live with you in Greenvale?”
He shook his head. “She passed away in June. It’s what provoked my relocation.”
Caroline’s cup and saucer sagged under the weight of his revelation. “My condolences, Mr. Duffy. I mean that sincerely.”
“Thank you.” His lips curved into a sad, reflective smile. “My mother was a paragon—to me, at least. She will be missed.” He set his tea on the table and picked up his food.
Caroline nibbled her sandwich to fill the silence while she searched for a topic of conversation worthy to follow talk of death. “How are things going at the steel mill?”
Walsh’s expression immediately brightened. “Very well. And busy, thanks to the reconstruction.”
“You sound as if you enjoy your job.”
“I do. Most men are repelled by tedious, indoor work, but I find the neat rows in the ledgers calming. The steady rhythm of numbers...making order out of chaos...” A rosy hue climbed his cheeks. “I suppose you find that odd.”
A little. “Not at all. More tea?”
Walsh accepted her offer to freshen his cup and continued the genteel consumption of his victuals, then suddenly halted and frowned at her empty plate. He carefully returned his to the table, one beef sandwich still untouched.
“If it’s not to your liking, I can make something else.”
“Oh, no. The food is delicious.”
The reason for his abrupt shift was obvious. He had stopped eating because she had. The polite response would be to take a second helping for the sake of her guest, but her heart wasn’t in this, and her stomach had followed suit.
“Would you like to take a stroll in the garden?” Caroline asked as a courtesy, knowing her tone conveyed the same indifference as her smile. The space could be seen from both her father’s desk and the parlor, but it would forever remind her of Jackson.
“I’d like that very much,” Walsh replied, rising to his feet. He followed her out, observing every courtesy, and fell in step beside her, his hands clasped behind his back.
“I apologize for the state of the grounds,” Caroline said as they made their way along the stone path.
“I’ve neglected my plants as of late.” She’d lacked even the motivation to sow her beloved winter pansies.
All the garden had to offer was shriveled vines and fading roses.
If not for the brilliant fall foliage framing the property, the view would be positively dismal.
She looked up at Walsh when he didn’t respond. “I fear I’ve been poor company.”
He glanced around and gestured at a nearby bench. “May I be frank?” he asked as they sat.
“Yes, of course.”
He folded his hands in his lap and gazed at her with earnest eyes.
“My aunt told me about your lieutenant and what happened when he returned home. I realize that approaching you so soon after a jilting could be viewed as taking advantage of a woman during a time of emotional weakness. I assure you that is not my intention. In fact, I’m quite angry with Mr. Maguire on your behalf. ”
“I appreciate that,” she said with a small, fleeting smile. “Though it wasn’t a true jilting, as we were never betrothed.”
“Betrayals hurt, whether they’re formal or not.”
He was right about that. And he apparently didn’t view Jackson’s rejection as a strike against her character, as some town members undoubtedly did.
“I’m no hero, Miss Bennet. I inherited little in the way of charm or appearance, but I’d hoped steady employment and passable manners would be enough to recommend me.”
“They are, Mr. Duffy—those qualities and more.”
“You needn’t flatter me. I hold no illusions about how I measure up when compared to my peers. I would like to call on you again, but if you don’t think we’d suit, I won’t pressure you.”
Guilt constricted Caroline’s chest. She hadn’t set out to hurt Walsh’s feelings, but she’d done it just the same. “My reticence is in no way a reflection on you or your character. I’m sorry if I gave you the wrong impression.”
“Thank you for that kindness,” he replied, appropriately mollified but still clearly waiting for an answer.
What now? His candid nature was refreshing. And it had made her face the loss of Jackson all over again.
But grieving took time. So did developing feelings for a suitor. Walsh deserved a chance to see where this might lead, and so did she.
The smile she offered was genuine this time. “I would welcome another visit, very much.”
“I’m glad.”
He stood and inclined his head to her. “I’ve prevailed on your hospitality long enough. I’d best return home before I wear out my welcome.”
“Nonsense,” she said, rising. “You’ve been an ideal guest.”
As they reached the garden gate, under the warm glow of lamplight spilling through the windows, Walsh cleared his throat and turned to her. “My aunt is hosting a holiday party next week, on Saturday.”
“Yes, we were invited, but my parents had already accepted an invitation to another engagement and were forced to decline.”
“Will you be going with them?”
“No.”