them stand in front of him while he held the twine with one hand and the child with the other. He laughed along with their giggles.
“Shall we give Miss Oliver a turn?” he asked, then corrected himself. “Shall Maris have a turn?”
Color rose on Miss Oliver’s cheeks as he spoke her given name, but she shook her head. “I am happy to watch.”
“Nonsense.” He refused to let her stand aside and not be part of the fun. Drawing the kite with him, he walked to where she stood.
“Very well,” she said, and he suspected she was eager to hold the kite’s string, too.
“Are you ready?”
She laughed and reached for the taut string. “I think I am as ready as I ever shall be.”
Instead of handing it to her, he raised his arms and brought them down on either side of her, so they both could hold the kite. Just as he had with the children.
But her reaction was completely different. She ducked under his arm and backed away, then looked at him, aghast. Her eyes were wide and her face ashen. Her fingers gripping her cloak shook so hard he could see that from more than an arm’s length away.
“What is wrong?” he asked, confused.
“I must— That is, we must— The children...” She moved away and gathered the youngsters, telling them it was time to leave. They protested as she herded them ahead of her down the path toward the cart.
Arthur collected the basket and drew in the kite. That slowed him so much that Miss Oliver had finished placing the children in the cart by the time he was halfway down the hill. It was even tougher on his ankle to descend than to climb.
“Miss Oliver?” he called.
He would have thought she did not hear him, except she glanced in his direction as she climbed onto the front seat and picked up the reins. When she raised them to give the command for the horse to go, the children started yelling.
He could not hear their words, but they pointed at his horse tied to the back. She stopped the cart and got out. Untying his mount, she waited until he reached the bottom of the slope. Then she handed him the reins without meeting his gaze.
“Miss Oliver—”
“If you will excuse us, my lord, it is time for the children to return to the house.” She added nothing more as she hurried to the cart and climbed up.
She drove past him. The children waved to him, but she did not look back.
With a halfhearted wave to the youngsters, Arthur remained where he was. What good would it do to give chase and ask her why she had abruptly changed right in front of his eyes? Her laughter had become fright, but what had scared her?
Chapter Six
“M y lord, this arrived for you.” No hint of emotion colored Goodwin’s voice.
Even so, Arthur whirled in his desk chair and stood. A hot sting ran along his leg from his ankle to his knee. He needed to take care, even after more than a week, not to jostle his leg or move it quickly.
Could it be a message at last from Gwendolyn?
The past week had been interminable. Not because he waited for Gwendolyn’s answer. Not because he had no chance to seek information about Cranny’s murder. In fact, Arthur had given far too little thought to his courier duties or his friend since the kite-flying outing. His thoughts were focused on why Miss Oliver had sped away with the children.
Getting an answer from her had proved as impossible as accepting that he had overdone it and set his recovery back. He had seen Miss Oliver on occasion in the house. The closest he had been to her was when she sat in the pew opposite his at church on Sunday. Every time he had aimed a surreptitious glance in her direction, she looked elsewhere. She had participated in the service, but he saw none of the heartfelt enthusiasm she showed with the children. That startled him, and he wondered why she seemed to draw into herself rather than reach out to the community under the church’s roof.
Not that he had a chance to ask, even if he could have found a way to do so without
“Shall we give Miss Oliver a turn?” he asked, then corrected himself. “Shall Maris have a turn?”
Color rose on Miss Oliver’s cheeks as he spoke her given name, but she shook her head. “I am happy to watch.”
“Nonsense.” He refused to let her stand aside and not be part of the fun. Drawing the kite with him, he walked to where she stood.
“Very well,” she said, and he suspected she was eager to hold the kite’s string, too.
“Are you ready?”
She laughed and reached for the taut string. “I think I am as ready as I ever shall be.”
Instead of handing it to her, he raised his arms and brought them down on either side of her, so they both could hold the kite. Just as he had with the children.
But her reaction was completely different. She ducked under his arm and backed away, then looked at him, aghast. Her eyes were wide and her face ashen. Her fingers gripping her cloak shook so hard he could see that from more than an arm’s length away.
“What is wrong?” he asked, confused.
“I must— That is, we must— The children...” She moved away and gathered the youngsters, telling them it was time to leave. They protested as she herded them ahead of her down the path toward the cart.
Arthur collected the basket and drew in the kite. That slowed him so much that Miss Oliver had finished placing the children in the cart by the time he was halfway down the hill. It was even tougher on his ankle to descend than to climb.
“Miss Oliver?” he called.
He would have thought she did not hear him, except she glanced in his direction as she climbed onto the front seat and picked up the reins. When she raised them to give the command for the horse to go, the children started yelling.
He could not hear their words, but they pointed at his horse tied to the back. She stopped the cart and got out. Untying his mount, she waited until he reached the bottom of the slope. Then she handed him the reins without meeting his gaze.
“Miss Oliver—”
“If you will excuse us, my lord, it is time for the children to return to the house.” She added nothing more as she hurried to the cart and climbed up.
She drove past him. The children waved to him, but she did not look back.
With a halfhearted wave to the youngsters, Arthur remained where he was. What good would it do to give chase and ask her why she had abruptly changed right in front of his eyes? Her laughter had become fright, but what had scared her?
Chapter Six
“M y lord, this arrived for you.” No hint of emotion colored Goodwin’s voice.
Even so, Arthur whirled in his desk chair and stood. A hot sting ran along his leg from his ankle to his knee. He needed to take care, even after more than a week, not to jostle his leg or move it quickly.
Could it be a message at last from Gwendolyn?
The past week had been interminable. Not because he waited for Gwendolyn’s answer. Not because he had no chance to seek information about Cranny’s murder. In fact, Arthur had given far too little thought to his courier duties or his friend since the kite-flying outing. His thoughts were focused on why Miss Oliver had sped away with the children.
Getting an answer from her had proved as impossible as accepting that he had overdone it and set his recovery back. He had seen Miss Oliver on occasion in the house. The closest he had been to her was when she sat in the pew opposite his at church on Sunday. Every time he had aimed a surreptitious glance in her direction, she looked elsewhere. She had participated in the service, but he saw none of the heartfelt enthusiasm she showed with the children. That startled him, and he wondered why she seemed to draw into herself rather than reach out to the community under the church’s roof.
Not that he had a chance to ask, even if he could have found a way to do so without
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