He smiled, and in that moment, all was right in her world again. She hadn’t realized how much she had come to depend upon the simple upturn of his lips.
“For my part,” Scott said, “I’m actually glad you didn’t have the ability to follow through, as I might have been tempted to accept the offer, and I would have hated myself for it.”
“Hated yourself for having helped people in need while securing some help for yourself at the same time?”
“It wouldn’t have felt that way,” he told her. “It would have felt mercenary, like compassion for pay. No matter the impossibility of my current situation, I can’t imagine becoming someone who only helps when it’s convenient and only offers kindness when it is rewarded.”
“I’ve never thought of you that way,” Gillian said. “I don’t know how anyone could. You are the very embodiment of compassion.”
His entire countenance lifted. “That might very well be the kindest thing anyone’s ever said to me, Gillian Phelps.”
She could feel the warmth of his gaze creating an answering heat in her cheeks. “It’s true, you know. I’ve met a great many people who are not the least bit kind. You aren’t like them at all.”
He slipped his hand from hers, then slipped his ledger inside his traveling desk. He stood and, turning around, placed the desk on the bench where he’d been sitting. He held his hand out to her, and she accepted, allowing him to help her to her feet. Generally, a gentleman released a lady’s hand after assisting her, but Scott kept hold of hers. Standing that way, with her hand enveloped in the warmth of his, she felt entirely at ease, at home.
“Would you walk with me around the gardens?” he asked. “I enjoyed eavesdropping on your botany lesson with Daria at Brier Hill. I would enjoy one of my own.”
Somehow, she doubted that. “You want to walk around whilst I offer up the names and characteristics of the varieties of shrubbery?” she asked dryly. “Are you hoping for something to reflect on later, when you’re struggling to sleep?”
“You underestimate yourself, Gillian. I haven’t yet decided whom to blame that on. The fickle mistreatment of theton. The harshness of life. Mr. Walker.”
“Mr. Walker?” What made him bring up her father? Had Mrs. Brownlow told him something she ought not have?
Scott began walking, her hand in his. “You are always terribly uncomfortable when he’s around. You watch him as if anticipating something, and I worry that what you are anticipating is something unpleasant. He, in return, is always overly stiff and cold when interacting with you. I haven’t been able to sort it out, but I mean to.”
“You have a goal to discover Mr. Walker’s deepest secrets?”
Scott laughed lightly. “Not his deepest secrets, only what it would take to know, when I leave here, that he will not be causing you grief.”
“That is a complicated thing.”
“I told you I am tempted to run away from my creditors,” he said with a touch of humor. “If I can admit to something so shameful, surely you could trust me a little with this very complicated thing you are facing.”
He didn’t realize what he was asking. “Just as you have sometimes contemplated running away from your creditors, I have sometimes contemplated running away from Houghton Manor.”
“Because of the butler?” He asked the question slowly and with a bit of tension. He clearly thought that Mr. Walker was mistreating her. In a way, that was true, but not the way he thought. The last thing she wanted was for him to undertake fisticuffs or some sort of duel, thinking he was avenging her.
“Not because ofhim,” Gillian said. “Because of . . . circumstances that are not wholly unconnected to him.”
“I don’t understand,” he said. “But I want to. I want to help if I can, Gillian. I don’t want you to be unhappy.”
“In this moment, Scott Sarvol, I am as happy as I have been in a long time.” She looked up into those breathtakingly brown eyes.
“So am I,” he said. “It seems to me we ought to make a habit of walking in gardens, since it does both of us so much good.”
“I haven’t even started telling you the unique characteristics of every single tree yet.”
Scott tucked her arm through his, placing his hand atop hers, which rested on his arm. “I have all day, Gillian. Let’s wander around your garden, and while we do, you can tell me anything you wish.”
Tell him anything. She wanted to. She wanted to simply spill her worries and troubles into his ear, to know for that briefmoment that she wasn’t alone in her struggles. But once he realized the enormity of the secret she kept hidden, everything would change, and not for the better.
Debt had a way of catching up to a person, he had said. Secrets have a way of catching up as well. Hers, she feared, would someday manage to do just that.
Chapter Sixteen
Scott had passed five daysat Houghton Manor. Mrs. Brownlow had been improving for more than half that time. And Gillian was quickly becoming one of his favorite people. She was joyfully happy and funny. She was also often very quiet and contemplative. And when he’d spilled a bit of his troubles into her ears in the garden the day before, she’d not abandoned him or scolded him for not having answers or for having difficulties in the first place. She had listened and empathized. And for the first time in two years, he hadn’t felt so alone.
He’d begun to realize that she had endured more hurts than the unkindnesses of thetonshe had admitted to. She carried scars as invisible as the flowers she had teased him about that day in the gazebo. He didn’t know whether to find himself a lance and go avenge her or simply hug her and assure her she wasn’t alone. Neither response was a common one for him, at least not outside his connection with his sister. But he didn’tat allfeel the same way about Gillian as he did about Sarah.