More than that, his speech, though blunt, a bit crude for a man to speak so in front of a female, was uttered with fine elocution. This was a man who had seen some spot of formal education, either through a tutor or mayhap he’d been sent off to school, attended university.
All of that together, as well as the reprieve from her disheartening task made Anne, perhaps, more receptive than she should have been to a stark stranger. But nevertheless…
“I am not a young and squeamish miss to complain over a bit of forthright speech. Please be easy on that count.” A long yawn forced its way past her throat. “Now I beg your pardon. It seems the horridly long day has sapped whatever strength I awoke with. Pray, what is your destination? Did your rebellious horse land you far from that bed you seek?”
“I am bound for the gamekeeper’s cottage on the Warrick estate.”
Oh, so a new employee after all.
Her chest, sick from grieving, sore from shoveling, expanded further on a breath of relief as that knowledge only confirmed her assumptions.
“Might I hope,” he continued, “I have not ventured too far afield?”
“Not too. Though you have cut across Spierton lands on your journey, I confess, ’tis a boon not to be out here alone any longer.” Alone with my troublesome thoughts. “And to answer your earlier questions, Mother should be fine. Some time and rest, and I believe her heart and body will heal.”
He stepped forward, made as though to reach for her, then the valise at his side thumped back against his leg when he paused, shifted in place.
“Her heart needs healed?” All casual ease wiped clear from his face, his somber tone now expressed every bit of aching sorrow she’d felt the last few hours. “The babe died, then?”
“One of them, yes.”
“Twins?”
“Amazingly, nay. Triplets. Which is why I am here—doing this.”
“Wait.” He swallowed hard. Audibly, across the brief expanse that separated them. “You are not—not…”
He came up and with one booted foot nudged the shovel’s blunt-tipped blade that had stilled between them.
“Trying to bury the stillborn child?” she hazarded. “No. The father arrived home a good hour ago—or was it three? I’m not certain of the time anymore.” She fingered the ribbon near her waist, where it dangled, now empty of the timepiece that typically resided there. “In addition to covering for an absent father and assisting a laboring mother, I cared for their scared five-year-old and caterwauling toddler.”
The ticking novelty shared with the siblings, a distraction, a comfort, one she hadn’t the heart to retrieve and take with her when she left.
Snow drifted between them, heavier now than it had been before. The light dance of flakes across her uplifted face both a balm and yet another worry—how would she make it home in this?
Thinking of time… “Time to get on with it.”
She gripped tight and heaved, but as though it possessed its own will, the shovel wrenched itself from her clasp and descended into the earth with a thud. Anne sagged against the handle, the only thing keeping her on her feet.
“If I may be so bold”—the stranger’s hearty voice washed over her—“what in heaven’s name has you out in this weather—at night—digging, then?”
For all his coarse bluster, he had a soothing presence about him, a quiet demeanor that drew her. In the slanted light given off by the lantern at her feet, she saw a strong jaw covered in bristle. The face of a traveling man, more than a bit beat and one that hadn’t seen the side of a blade in days, if not weeks.
It was difficult to ascertain, given the shadows of the night, but his hair looked to be a medium brown, darker than hers but not black. Of his eyes, she could confirm nothing. Nothing beyond the thick horizontal slash of his brows.
And since when do you notice so much about a man?
Since always, for not many crossed her path. Isn’t that the truth? Other than the males she’d grown up knowing or chanced across in the nearby village, hers had been a mostly solitary existence, her father eschewing trips to London, save for important parliamentary sessions and votes that he incurred alone, her mother happy to stay in the country and avoid the smelly, soot- and sewer-filled city.
“No response, hmm?” He shifted, came one stride closer and paused. “Really, madam. You are beyond exhausted and would be better served—”
A loud, wild cry sounded close and they both jumped.
“Damn. Pardon. What the devil was that?” He spun outward, evaluating the shadows beyond the meager circle of light. “And now that time appears paramount—before you fall down or we become a midnight feast for unsavory predators—why the devil have you not sought your bed before now?”
As though to emphasize his dismay, the lantern cracked, buzzed, flickered and went out.
“A promise.” The two words sighed from her in a feeble fashion and—by the sound of it, by the blazes—she lifted the blame shovel once again.