She refused to look at him, to see if perhaps he felt it, too.
No, she wouldn’t be so cruel to herself. He certainly didn’t seem in agony over her departure now.
As she settled into the coach with Catharine beside her on the blue damask cushions, Chase climbed in and sat opposite them. In his traveling coat, and with his breadth, he took up a good deal of the opposite seat and room in the coach, in general.
As always, he seemed to fill the air with his presence.
His booted foot extended, brushing her boot ever so slightly.
She gasped silently, then she folded her hands before her, determined not to let him see how he could still affect her.
As the coach rumbled forward, he rested a gloved hand on a stack of books beside him.
She studied the red, blue, and green leather-bound volumes embossed with gold lettering. “Whatever are those?” she asked.
“Oh.” His dark brows rose, and he pressed his hand down upon the volumes. “These are full of the most fascinating facts. And horrified as you might be, I’ve annotated them. And made notes.”
“About what?” she inquired. Anticipation built within her, but she couldn’t discern if it was a feeling of dread or worse. Hope. Hope was the worst thing she could experience now.
He cocked his head to the side. “The bastards of England.”
She coughed. “I beg your pardon?”
Her sister’s eyes rounded, but her mouth stayed clamped shut as she clearly saw this was a moment of potentially great revelation. Even so, she looked fit to bursting with questions.
“Well,” he said softly, “you did tell me the English history was full of them. And you were most correct. I have made a list. It’s not complete, but it’s a start.”
He pulled a piece of parchment out from one of the books and handed it to her.
She began skimming, reading his strong hand. Famous names were scrawled boldly in black ink along with ones she only recognized from the famous nature of the surname. “My, you have been diligent.”
“Indeed, I have,” he agreed without modesty. “You see, Victory, I took your supposition seriously. I wanted to ascertain how valid the lines of England always are.”
“And what did you find in your research?” she asked, swallowing as she realized he had listened to her.
“That many might not be valid at all.”
The coach rolled through the city streets, making its way with relative ease as a ducal conveyance.
She read the list again, wondering why he had shown it to her.
She stared at the page until the names blurred.
Did he truly not care that she was going? It seemed not. For he made no attempt to convince her to stay as they traveled across the city and down to the river.
All her hopes, dreaded things, withered with each passing moment.
And as they rolled through the street, she found herself wishing that he would make some sort of declaration. Anything, really.
The silence was horrible, and yet she did not find that she could fill it with trivialities.
It was all she could do not to order the coach to stop so she could make a hasty escape. But she was no coward. She’d endure this.
Catharine leaned forward, gazing out the window, and exclaimed, “Whatever are we doing in this part of town? I’ve never been here.”
She followed her sister’s gaze and spotted the towering ships. “My goodness, I’ve never been to this part of town, either.”
Chase smiled. “I have. Several times, but for nefarious purposes. Brookhaven and I do like to come down here to have a drink.”