The Lost Bee by L. K. Rigel Page A

books she bought from Mr. Davies or that her father brought her from his travels. She didn’t mind. She really didn’t. Better to answer to a kind papa than a cruel husband. She didn’t even remember that young man’s name.
    A line of stamped-down wild grass ran off the path past a fine large ash, Mama’s favorite tree. “Ah, there you are,” Susan said aloud. “I’ve found you now.”
    A low chuckle came from the other side of the tree. “I didn’t know you were looking for me.”
    “Oh.” Susan automatically smoothed her hair and checked to see if her skirt was straight. She struggled to hide her delight. “It’s you.”
    Morgan Baker sat on the ground, one long leg stretched out and a book resting on his knee. His rumpled hat lay on the ground beside him.
    “Yes.” He peered through wild blond curls. His blue eyes lit up and a smile spread over his face. “It’s me,” he said.
    Susan had retreated from the world. She hadn’t prepared for the world to come to her. Her heart leapt into her throat, as it did every time she saw the brilliant young engineer.
    From the beginning, she treasured Morgan Baker’s visits to Millam Cottage. She was drawn to his informed conversation, but it didn’t hurt that he had broad shoulders, a ready smile, and blond curls that constantly fell over his laughing intelligent eyes. Company was rare in the Gray household, and after that first supper she didn’t think to leave the gentlemen alone with their brandy and cigars.
    She and Mr. Baker discovered each other’s admirable qualities starting that night, and in the last few months they’d discussed all manner of things. Revolution versus civilization. Discoveries of the modern age. The changing style of poetry.
    He jumped to his feet and took an eager step toward her.
    “I beg you pardon the intrusion, Mr. Baker,” she said.
    “You could never be an intrusion, Miss Gray.”
    “May I ask what you’re reading?”
    “ Poems on Various Subjects by Samuel Taylor Coleridge.”
    She didn’t care what he was reading. She only cared that he was so near and they were alone and could speak freely. But her brain froze, stuck on inane niceties. “Are they good? I haven’t heard of the author.”
    “I don’t believe they are.” He laughed, and his eyes twinkled with fun. “But one likes to support the new poets.”
    “Quite admirable, I’m sure.”
    “No, Miss Gray.” He dropped the book and took her into his arms. “I’m not at all admirable.” He held her close, an arm around her waist and a warm hand on the back of her neck. “I’ve been here for an hour, hoping you might come out today. For so long, I’ve dreamed of seeing you alone.”
    “I was—I am looking for Mama.” She turned away from his penetrating gaze, but he held her chin and guided her back.
    “Your eyes are bewitching. Do you know that?” he said. “Not really blue. So pale they’re gray, befitting your name, like a cloud passing in front of the sun.”  
    “Who is the poet now?” His touch was too much to bear. She was going to faint. The bell slipped from her grasp and fell to the earth with a muted clang.
    “When I first saw you,” he said, “I didn’t think you were pretty.”
    “Are you trying to woo me, sir? Those are hardly words to make love by.”
    He silenced her with a finger. “Your eyes seduced me.” His gaze swept down from her eyes to her pounding heart and permeated to her very soul. “And led me to your other fine qualities.”
    “This is madness.” She should be angry at his impudence. She should stay away from the brash young man who’d come into all their lives like a whirlwind and impressed her father with his knowledge and skill and thrilled her with…with his impudence.
    “I agree. It is madness. But at all events, I spoke with Mrs. Gray not ten minutes ago.” He lifted Susan’s hand to his lips. Oh, why hadn’t she worn her gloves? “She said something about going to see the fairy