“The result of a remarkable amount of practice.” The way his smile brightened his eyes did odd things to Gillian’s heart. He was handsome, there was no denying that.
They settled into silence once more. Scott returned to his letter. Gillian set her gaze on the scenery passing by, though she didn’t note most of it. Her thoughts were at Houghton Manor and what she would find there.
She swallowed the lump in her throat. “Mrs. Brownlow seemed a little ill when I left. Not worryingly so but enough that I noticed. I ought to have remained until I knew for certain she wasn’t terribly unwell.”
She braced herself for the inevitable “Don’t worry about that” or “You could not have possibly known.”
Scott said none of those things. He offered a simple, heartfelt “I’m sorry.”
It was, somehow, exactly what she’d needed to hear.
“What if we don’t reach Houghton Manor in time? What if I don’t get to see her before she—” Gillian closed her eyes, forcingherself to take a deep breath. She was not usually one to grow emotional, especially not in front of people she didn’t know well. “Forgive me. I’m crying again.”
She heard the sounds of him putting away his letter-writing supplies. He spoke as he did so. “When my father passed away, I found that sometimes it helped ease the clenching in my heart to talk about him or my memories of him or even the grief I was feeling. Please know that while we are traveling, if you feel doing so would help, I would very much enjoy knowing more about your dear Mrs. Brownlow.”
She opened her eyes once more and looked across at him. “I don’t know if it would help or not. It might simply make me more sad.”
He set his traveling desk on the seat beside him, then leaned forward and set his hand atop hers. Mme Dupuis would have fainted out of sheer horror at the idea of a gentleman touching a lady’s hand without utilizing a feather. For her part, Gillian was grateful.
“I am as comfortable with silence as I am with talking,” he said. “Please choose whichever will help you most.”
She threaded her fingers through his and held fast. She’d not even realized how much she needed a comforting touch until he’d offered it. The position could not be comfortable for him, though, leaning forward as he was. She shifted on the forward-facing bench, indicating that he should move to sit beside her. He did so, keeping his hand in hers. And the light scent of his shaving soap proved calming. Lavender had that effect on her; she didn’t know why.
“After my mother died, Mrs. Brownlow remained in contact with my father and me. About seven years ago, my father encountered some financial difficulties, and Mrs. Brownlow took me in, wanting to make certain I was not struggling or going without. I’ve lived at Houghton Manor ever since.”
“Your father must miss you.”
Did he? He saw her every day. They never interacted as father and daughter. He didn’t embrace her or say he loved her. She was afforded no opportunity to tell him her hopes and worries, her experiences and dreams.
Most of Society thought of her as an orphan. That felt painfully true so much of the time. Mrs. Brownlow was all the family she had now—all that would claim her, at least.
She let her shoulders droop. “I’m not certain my fatherdoesmiss me.”
Scott squeezed her hand. “Families are complicated things, aren’t they?”
Gillian nodded.
“I write to my mother in America at least once every month, sending her word of how my sister and I are faring. I’ve done so for two years, and she has not written back.”
He had lost one parent and felt pushed away by the other. Gillian wished they didn’t have those experiences in common. “You’re fortunate to have your sister nearby,” she said.
“I have recently begun to realize that.” He smiled again; her heart responded in the usual fashion. “And it sounds like you’ve been fortunate to have Mrs. Brownlow in your life.”
“I have,” Gillian said. “She’s been exceedingly kind and generous. She has even made provisions in her will for me to inherit enough to live on after she...after she passes away, so I won’t find myself entirely at loose ends.”
“That, I imagine, has eased some of your worries.”
Ladies were, so often, financially at the mercy of the men in their families. Without Mrs. Brownlow’s bequest, Gillian would be left destitute. Her father could not help financially. Butshewould have money to live on. Perhaps her father could be her father again. They could begin again somewhere else, living onher inheritance. They’d still have to carefully hide his past, but they might manage a future free of scandal.
She was doing something of a miserable job of it at the moment. “I was not thinking clearly enough yesterday when this hasty journey was being planned to realize that, having shared a chambermaid acting as a lady’s maid with Daria while at Brier Hill, I had no maid to make this journey back with us. Should word of our arrangement spread, people will whisper about you.”
“Andyou,” he replied.
That was true enough. How weary she was of running from whispers.
“Set your mind at ease, Gillian. No one at Brier Hill will say anything. My coachman can be depended upon. And I cannot imagine anyone at Houghton Manor would cause grief to someone they care about.”
Her father’s stiff butler demeanor flashed through her mind. “I’m not certain everyone there even likes me.”