Chapter Seven
Mrs. Seymour had fallen asleep, making the afternoon hours of their first full day in the carriage far more peaceful than they would have been otherwise. Nia had drifted off as well. Eve was certain Duke was not sleeping behind his newspaper. But he had grown so much more relaxed after his grandmother had gone to sleep that Eve had been very careful not to disrupt his momentary respite.
She’d brought a book with her on the journey and had been enjoying it. But the light spilling in through the windows was growing too dim to continue reading. The strain of trying to make out the words was beginning to make her head ache. She suspected Duke would, at any moment, abandon his efforts to read his newspaper.
The ribbon she’d been using to mark her place in the book had, at some point, fallen off her lap. She didn’t see it on the floor or on the bench beside her. It must have fallen into the gap between the bench and the wall.
She slipped her hand into the gap. Her fingers found the ribbon, but when she curled them around it, something sharp stabbed her smallest finger. She quickly pulled her hand free once more. The ribbon fluttered onto her lap, and blood oozed from her wound.
Keeping her voice low so as not to awaken their companions, she said, “Duke, do you have a handkerchief?”
He lowered his paper. “I do.” He reached into his breast pocket.
She cupped her other hand beneath the bleeding one, ready to catch any blood that dripped off.
“What happened?” Rather than simply give her the handkerchief, he took her injured hand in his.
“There is something sharp over here. I didn’t see what.”
He wrapped his handkerchief around her bleeding finger and held tight to her finger, pressing hard but not truly painfully. “You didn’t make a sound.”
“I didn’t want to wake our traveling companions.”
“I can’t say I blame you for that.” The poor man looked embarrassed.
“There’s a woman who lives in the village not far from Tulleyloch,” she said. “Anyone who happens past her home while she’s watching will receive an earful, an extensive recounting of everything that ails or vexes her.”
Duke’s mouth twisted a little. “That sounds familiar.”
“One of the times I found myself caught listening to her, I realized something.”
He loosened his hold on her finger, studying the handkerchief wrapped around it. “What did you discover?”
“That she was lonely. She’d no one there to see her struggles and know what difficulties she’d passed through. That makes a person feel very... invisible.”
Duke pressed her finger once more, even as his gaze slid to his grandmother, still sleeping. “She doesn’t have any family in Ireland any longer, and she has a difficult relationship with her children. A lot of her friends have passed away. She likely is a little lonely.”
“That realization didn’t mean I suddenly enjoyed being harangued with all the complaints the poor woman in the village could toss at me,” Eve said, putting her ribbon in her book with her free hand. “Being miserable doesn’t excuse treating others poorly. But I found I could be a little more patient with her.”
He looked back at Eve once more. “Is that how you have managed to endure my grandmother as well as you have?”
“That, and I am a saint among women.”
Duke didn’t smile, but heavens, if he didn’t look as though he was about to.
“Did you find the ribbon for your book?” he asked.
“It’s in my book.”
“I understand and fully concur with the wrath that quickly descends upon a person who removes an item marking a reader’s place in a book,” Duke said, “but I think your finger needs the ribbon more than your book does.”
She pulled the ribbon from her book and handed it to him. He tied it around the handkerchief, pulling it tight enough to replace the pressure his fingers had provided.
Duke opened a compartment in the carriage wall beside him and pulled out a stoneware jug.
“While I agree your grandmother’s made this a difficult day for you,” Eve said with a laugh, “I don’t know that hard cider is quite the right thing just now.”
He looked back at her, and that same twinkle of an unexpressed smile touched his eyes. “It’s water.”
“ Inside the carriage?” She’d never heard of such a thing. Barrels of water were often strapped to the outside but could be tapped only during pauses in the journey.
“I’ve found having a bit of water inside to be a helpful thing.” He then pulled a small tin cup from the same compartment. With a fluidity born, no doubt, of experience, he uncorked the jug and poured water into the tin cup without spilling any despite the carriage’s bumping and rocking on the uneven road. He held the cup out to her. “You’ve cleared your throat a few times in the past fifteen minutes. I suspect you’re thirsty.”
She gladly accepted it—with her un injured hand, naturally. “Do you always address people’s difficulties this efficiently?”
Without any indication of jesting or embarrassment, he answered, “I do.” He replaced the cork and returned the jug to its compartment.
Eve took a small sip of water. Duke took gentle hold of her injured finger once more, examining the handkerchief bandage.
“Has it bled through?”
“No,” he said. “So we may not have to amputate, though I will make no guarantee.”
She smiled at him over her tin cup. “What a relief.”
Duke sat back once more, but he didn’t take up his newspaper. It was too dim for reading now.
“Was there anything interesting in your paper?” she asked.
“Not really,” he said. “Parliament recently reconvened in London to address the Peterloo Massacre. But this paper is too out-of-date to include any new information on that matter.”
“Do you have an interest in political matters, or did the topic draw your attention because Peterloo occurred in your home county?”
“Both,” he said.
She took another sip of water. “Do you mean to enter politics now that you are finished at Cambridge?”
“No.”
“But it does interest you?”
“Yes, but a man must own land to stand for a seat in the House of Commons.”
Ah. Duke would someday inherit his family’s estate, but that did not permit him to pursue a parliamentary career now. “Would you pursue it otherwise?”
“Are you worried about my future, Eve?” He didn’t sound offended.
“I like the idea of someone being able to claim a dreamed-of future. I’m hoping there is a way for you to be that person.”
“Why would that person not be you ?” he asked.
“Because I have the unfortunate tendency to dream of impossible things.”
Duke’s gaze turned studying. “What impossible dream are you nursing currently?”
She shook her head. “I believe I will break with my usual approach and, instead, keep my mouth shut.”
“I am a good listener, if ever you do want to talk.”
In what amounted to an immediate abandonment of her declaration mere moments earlier, she blurted out a thought as it entered her mind. “Guess.”
“You’d like me to attempt to ascertain what you dream of in your future?”
“I would very much like for you to.” In her excitement, shemotioned broadly with both arms, accidentally splashing a bit of water on her face. “Ah, the state of me.” With one hand holding a cup and the other sporting a bandaged finger, she wasn’t certain how to address the situation she’d created.
Duke brushed the cuff of his jacket along her cheek, wiping away the water. There was nothing truly romantic or tender in the gesture, yet her heart skipped a beat. He wasn’t actually touching her, but he was studying her with his sapphire eyes. She swallowed, finding breathing a little difficult.
“It is a very good thing that wasn’t cider. Imagine if Grandmother awoke to find you smelling of spirits.” She enjoyed hearing his deep, velvety voice, especially when he tucked a hint of laughter into it, as he was doing just then.
Eve shook off the tingling his voice had rippled over her, but she didn’t manage to say anything.
Duke reached under the bench and pulled out a carriage blanket. He flicked it out and over her lap. “There is likely at least a half hour before we reach the inn. You should try to rest until then.”
Her heart was pounding far too hard for rest. Good heavens, what was happening? This was Duke, a friend, one of the Pack. Yes, he had a voice like a warm blanket on a cold day and eyes so gorgeously blue that they ought to be against the law somewhere, but that didn’t mean she was justified in being ridiculous.
“Are you attempting to avoid your inevitable humiliation when you can’t guess my ideal future?” she asked.
“You are very confident that I can’t sort it out.” Heavens, that voice of his. Maybe it was the reason she was lightheaded. “I accept the challenge, Eve O’Doyle, but only if you agree that when I guess correctly, you’ll tell me.”
“ When ? That is awfully confident for someone who isn’t even certain whether I am soon to lose a finger. Don’t you pay attention?”
“Whatever your dreamed-of future is, I would wager it involves teasing people.” It was growing too dim in the carriage to see if his eyes were subtly dancing, but she could see what appeared to be an upward tip to one corner of his mouth. For the length of a heartbeat, she couldn’t look away. There she went, being ridiculous again.
She shook that off and retook the topic. “If I sort out what it is you intend to do with your life, will you tell me?”
“Even my own family is unlikely to guess that.”
“I do enjoy a challenge,” she said.
“How do you feel about an impossibility?” he asked dryly.
That was intriguing. “You think the puzzle will be that difficult for me to solve?”
“I believe the word I used was impossible , but I will thoroughly enjoy watching you make the attempt.”
She felt her cheeks flush at that declaration. Eve never blushed. She didn’t know what exactly had her mind and heart acting so uncharacteristically silly. All she could say for certain was that it was a very good thing they had two days left in this journey, otherwise she might find herself thinking very foolish things.