“I wonder who it is,” Claire mused.
Sara shook her head. “I don’t recognize him.”
“Likely just a stranded traveler,” Louisa said. “There’s not much else to draw people to Taft other than repairs.”
They were too far away to hear what the gentlemen were discussing. The stranger gestured to his horse and Jacob responded in kind, motioning toward the carriage. For one frightful moment, Sara thought she would have to endure the anxiety of meeting the man, but thankfully he shook his head, and Jacob then pointed toward the village, obviously giving directions. They ended their conversation with a handshake and Jacob made his way back to the carriage.
Sara’s eyes remained on the gentleman, for once in her life curious of a stranger. He had turned to his horse and was patting its neck, obviously soothing the animal. He was more finely dressed than what they were used to in Taft; perhaps he was from London or somewhere close to there. What was he doing in their little part of the country?
The carriage rocked as Jacob climbed in, breaking Sara’s concentration on the stranger. “What was amiss?” Claire asked.
“His horse threw a shoe and he is going to Taft to have it seen to,” her husband replied.
“I was right,” Louisa said, a triumphant note in her voice.
“You didn’t offer him any help or a ride?” Claire asked, her attention still on Jacob.
He pursed his lips. “Of course I did. He refused.”
“You should have insisted.”
“I cannot and will not force a man to accept my assistance, Claire. I gave him directions to the blacksmith as well as to Ridgestone, should he find himself in need of us.”
“But—”
“Drive on, Rogers,” Jacob ordered, and the carriage lurched into motion.
Sara looked back at the stranger as they passed. He tipped his hat in thanks and bowed slightly. When he straightened, his blue eyes locked with hers, startling her with their icy hue. The hair on her nape rose in awareness and her skin prickled. A surprised gasp caught in her throat, having not expected him to meet her gaze so intensely while she was in a moving carriage.
Sara jerked her gaze away, breaking the momentary connection with the stranger. Through a dust cloud, she saw him turn toward Taft and resume his journey, both horse and man limping as they receded from her sight.
CHAPTER TWO
* * *
“Now say it.”
“I feel ridiculous.”
“Forget that. Just say it.”
“Louisa—”
“Sara, just do it,” Louisa insisted.
Sara pursed her lips and looked at Louisa, trying not to laugh. Her friend had done a credible job of re-creating Mrs. Glendoe from a dress manikin, using one of the sports balls for her head and an old-fashioned wig found in a costume trunk. The ball had a sour expression drawn on it, the mouth curled into a scowl.
Sara again looked at Louisa, who gestured impatiently at the makeshift Mrs. Glendoe. Claire just sat on the sofa and sipped her tea, a sparkle in her eye. All three were in their private sitting room, enjoying the quiet Sunday afternoon before the rush of the week began.
She took a deep breath and began to speak. “Mrs. Glendoe—”
“Louder,” Louisa interrupted.
“Mrs. Glendoe,” Sara repeated more loudly, “I do not recall asking for your opinion.” She looked impatiently at Louisa. “This is pointless. I know it’s not her, so it’s not the same.”
“But the more you practice now, the easier it will be when you actually do confront her.” Claire pointed out.
“But I don’t actually want to confront her.” Even just the thought of doing so caused her throat to tighten. Sara swallowed to dislodge it, disguising the action by taking a sip of her tea. The teacup shook in her hand and rattled as she placed it back on the saucer.
Claire smiled. “It will get easier,” she repeated.
Louisa sat with a huff and reached for a scone. “I don’t understand it. Do you enjoy the way she makes you feel?”
“Of course not,” Sara answered.
“Then why do you let her treat you like that? Why do you freeze instead of standing up to her?” Louisa asked, impatience painting her voice. “I’m trying to understand you, but it’s difficult when you won’t tell us why.”