“Not at all.” he said gently. “I suspect some stories are so potent they simply torment the author if they remain untold, even if the author must remain unknown.”
And with that, he had stolen her ability to be glib.
Because that sounded like an innuendo.
Her heart was thudding now in a way it hadn’t in…eight entire months.
He looked up again. “Do you enjoy dancing very much then, Miss Sylvaine?”
“Oh, very much. It's how I...” She couldn't very well tell Isaiah Redmond that she'd injured her toe while dancing boisterously by herself in her night rail. “Yes, very much. I’m looking forward to the assembly. What bringsyouto the oak trees just before sunset, Mr. Redmond, if I may ask?”
“I've arranged to meet my friend, Mr. Finchley, here. And then we'll be off to the Pig & Thistle for darts and a pint. The winner will buy dinner. He's a bit late. Hence my obsession with my watch.”
“And do you enjoy playing darts very much?” She was teasing him.
He smiled indulgently. “I enjoywinningvery much. And I invariably do.”
Something unsettling glinted around the edges of those words.
She could well imagine that this sort of enigmatic arrogance might set a more forthright man’s teeth on edge—and Jacob was both forthright and accustomed to winning at nearly everything—and yet she found Mr. Redmond’s confidence alluring, despite herself.
“Well, if you ever find yourself without your watch, Mr. Redmond, you can always have a look at the roof of Miss Endicott's academy. At about half past four on a clear day, the sun lays a stripe of gold along the edge. All of Pennyroyal green is a clock if you know how to use it.”
“I have never thought of Pennyroyal Green in quite that way before, Miss Sylvaine. But I suspect I shall always think of half past four as a magical hour from now on.”
Her heart skipped.
There ensued a fraught silence, during which they regarded each other in absolute stillness.
Mr. Redmond was half in shadow, half in sunlight, and wholly riveting.
“I think perhaps this conversation might be rather bold,” she said quietly.
It needed to be said.
She’d suddenly felt a need to tether herself to the anvil of propriety, because the pull she felt toward him frightened her. He was already too close. She suddenly, rashly, wanted nothing more than to be even closer.
He gave a thoughtful nod, as if this was a shared problem.
“Do you mind?” His voice was soft and low. He sounded gently, solicitously curious.
So she gave this some honest thought.
“Less than I ought to...perhaps?” she confessed worriedly, on something close to a whisper.
This time his smile was slow and tenderly enveloping.
Something odd and terrible in its beauty happened to her then. The sensation was both internal and external, as though the very world and her place in it was subtly re-arranging. Such was her emotional vertigo she reached into her apron pocket and fumbled about until she found the little carved celandine and closed her fingers around it.
She turned away and discovered that Maria was hurtling down the hill. She saw Isolde and thrust her arm triumphantly skyward. Her gloves were clutched in her fist.
Isolde stepped away from Isaiah and out of the alarmingly enchanted, leafy shadows into what remained of the daylight, and waved and smiled.
Whereupon Maria grinned, tossed her head, and broke into a mock gallop.
As she approached, it was clear she was making clopping noises with her mouth.
Isolde's hand flew to her throat in a panic.