Page 3 of Forget Me Not

“I know where he is,” she answered over her shoulder. “In the library.”

He waved her on. “Always a pleasure, Julia.”

Her feet took her directly to her destination. Lucas was, indeed, inside. He stood at the large table set among the tall bookshelves, pulling a book off a stack. He had started powdering his hair earlier that year. She didn’t like it. His hair used to be allowed to hang free, in untamed golden curls. He’d sometimes tied it back with a ribbon, as most boys and gentlemen did, those who didn’t wear wigs, but it had never stayed. The wildness of his appearance had begun to disappear over the years, replaced by the preference for decorum too many adopted as they grew. If the fates were kind, hair powder would no longer be fashionable by the time she was old enough to have to adhere to it; hair with any hint of red looked terribly odd powdered.

He looked over as she moved to where he stood. “Julia. Have you come for a visit?”

She set her fists on her hips, something made more difficult by the fact that she had recently begun wearing panniers, the widened skirt emphasizing the fact that she was most certainly no longer a child. “Robert Finley told me you are leaving Lampton Park.”

His golden brow dipped. “Why were you talking to Robert Finley?”

She let out a huff of air. “Because scrambling over headstones seemed an overly drastic means of escape.”

Lucas stepped around the table a bit, coming closer to her. “Robert Finley isn’t dangerous or anything of that nature, but he isn’t the most admirable of gentlemen.”

She pressed a dramatic hand to her heart and assumed an expression of utter surprise. “This is shocking information!” She had known Robert Finley all her life; she knew what he was.

“Point well made, Julia.” He eyed her a little peculiarly. “If you still wore your hair in braids, I’d tug one of them right now.”

She had liked that once upon a time. But not now. “I’m too old for that.”

He sat on the edge of the table, facing her. “What are you now? Ten years old? Eleven?”

“I’m almost thirteen.”

His mouth twisted, and his eyes narrowed. “No. You can’t be.”

“I am,” she said. “And you still haven’t answered my question.”

He folded his arms across his chest. A little smile tugged at his mouth. “You didn’t ask a question.”

Hadn’t she? No matter. “You know what I was asking.”

He shook his head slowly. “Can’t say that I do.”

She threw her hands up. “Why do you always tease me when I don’t want you to?”

“You used to laugh when I teased you,” he said.

“Andyouused to be funny.”

His mouth twitched at the corner. “I’m not now?”

“Am I laughing?” She quirked an eyebrow, doing her best imitation of an expression his mother often wore when besting someone in a battle of wits. “Besides, teasing is for little children.”

He looked the tiniest bit repentant. “I forget sometimes that you’re growing up. I still picture you running along the river with Charlotte and Harriet, the way you were then, and I forget.”

There was too much sadness in his tone for her to stay fully angry with him. She leaned against the table next to him. “I miss them,” she said.

“So do I.” He gave her shoulders a squeeze as he’d done countless times throughout her life. He and Stanley both did that. “And I miss my brothers.”

“And my mother,” Julia said, leaning her head against him.

“And Stanley,” Lucas said.

She stiffened, her heart pounding in her neck. “Has he—Has Stanley—He’s not—?” She couldn’t seem to catch her breath, fear and agony blending inside.

“Oh, sweeting, no. I haven’t heard any unhappy news of him. I only meant that I miss him being here with us.”

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