Chapter Three
Over a year had passed since he’d first met Cora, and every month, without fail, Phillip returned to the small village. The people recognized him on sight, not by his family name or his title, but as the persistent gentleman who arrived like clockwork.
Phillip had no desire to dwell upon the mundane tasks that awaited him in London.
His mother was near to escaping the confines of mourning and insisted upon retaining the services of a servant who seemed rather too devoted to her needs.
Although he had no proof of the matter, he’d seen enough to give him pause at the propriety of their relationship.
He shoved the thoughts from his mind, instead focusing on the path before him as it led into the village. At some point, they would realize who he was and his true purpose here. But he could not reveal it—not yet. Not when he was so close to convincing the lovely widow of his sincerity.
Truth be told, Phillip had completely abandoned all pretense of modesty. He allowed his gaze to linger longer than socially acceptable. He left tokens of his affection, mostly in the manner of a small blossom plucked from a nearby meadow or a hothouse flower purchased at the Inverness station.
His step lightened as he entered the village, and he nodded in greeting to those he passed. It was delightful, being something other than who he truly was. His mother sometimes questioned his prolonged absences from London, but he found all manner of excuses to leave.
Phillip had finally experienced a taste of freedom—and love. He’d had dalliances in the past, lovers and heated passions, but nothing compared to the ache and need that Cora placed inside him. Even if she despised him to her dying breath, he would always harbor a place for her in his heart.
As he rounded the corner, Phillip came up short.
Just ahead, he spied the familiar profile of the woman in question.
She knelt before a small boy who sat upon a wooden stump, tearstains on his dirty cheeks.
Her lips moved as she comforted the boy who showed her a torn patch in his trousers and a bloody knee.
From this distance, Phillip could not hear their conversation, but he leaned against the stone building and observed the tender scene.
She withdrew a tin from the bag on her hip, opened it, and smeared some type of salve on the abrasion.
Then she returned the tin and withdrew a handkerchief, tying it around the wound.
Phillip witnessed the competence in her movements, the deft capability and authority in her kind words and actions. His heart warmed as the realization that his affections had not been misplaced and the yearning intensified even more.
The young boy hugged her tightly before dashing off, his injury long forgotten. Cora rose to her feet and straightened her skirts.
“You have returned yet again,” she said without turning to face him.
“Does that surprise you?” he asked, closing the gap between them.
“‘Surprise’?” She shook her head. “Not in the slightest. Although I do wonder at your penchant for punishing yourself in such a strange manner.”
“You think I am punishing myself by coming here?” Phillip raised a brow. This was the most they had conversed in months, and he reveled in the sudden shift.
“You are from London, yes?” She inclined her head, her gaze searching and curious.
“I am.” He straightened, suddenly aware of her taking his measure.
“Such travel must be tedious, indeed.” Her lips pursed. “Whatever business you have here must be of great importance.”
“It is.” His half-truths suddenly felt more complicated than he’d once imagined.
“The Duke of Tolland must trust you a great deal to handle such an important task.” She narrowed her gaze. “I find it interesting he himself has not deigned to make an appearance in our small village.”
Phillip cleared his throat, suddenly desirous of changing the subject to anything but this. He gestured to the direction in which the young man had ventured. “That boy—”
“Aye, what of him?” She squared her shoulders, put off by the abrupt change in topic.
“You tended to his wound with such precision.” Phillip noted the strong set of her jaw as he complimented her. “Are you a healer as well?”
“I do what must be done.” She shook her head. “No need to romanticize work born out of necessity.”
“Such skills must be hard won.”
“I have learned much over the years, and my skills have only improved during that time.”
“Do you enjoy it?” Phillip asked.
For a long moment, she merely stared at him, lips set in a firm line, gaze glossy as though lost in a reminiscence.
“I—” She shook her head, setting a few tendrils of hair free with the force of the action. “I must go.”
“My apologies. I do not wish to keep you.” Phillip inclined his head, stepping back.
She blinked at him, and then with a curt nod, she hastened down the road toward the tavern.
Phillip tucked his hands in his pockets, staring after her until she’d disappeared from view. There was certainly more to this woman than met the eye.
Beautiful, to be sure, but smart, quick witted, and caring. He sighed heavily, knowing his heart would surely break if he continued down this path.
But he persisted, intent on learning as much as he could about this woman—and hopeful he could convince her that the inconvenience of stepping outside of her comfort would be worth the pleasure.