Page 7 of Nobody's Angel
“There is no relation, just as my birthmark means nothing. No wolves, dark or otherwise.” He returned his thoughts to the young Lettie and the day she’d rescued him. Once the boys had been chased off, Lettie had taken out her pretty lace handkerchief with the initials LB embroidered in pink thread on one end and a pink butterfly on the other, and used it to gently wipe the blood off his cut lip. And his scraped knee. And his bruised knuckles.
And his muddied face.
How could he not have loved the girl ever since that moment?
She graced him with another smile that struck like an arrow straight through his heart. “Brynne Ernest Rowan Tarbolton.”
“No.”
“I have it! Brynne Elspeth Randolph Terrwilliger.”
He leaned his head against the black leather squabs and groaned. “Elspeth?Seriously?Elspeth.”
Chapter Three
Lettie tried herbest not to stare at Brynne as the carriage bounced along the well traveled road to Wrexham. They’d spent a most pleasant evening in Preston with her uncle, although Edward Falconer wasn’t really her uncle, but her father’s cousin. However, they were close enough in blood relation and he’d always been a part of their loving family, so she couldn’t think of him as anything but that… or a pirate, which is what she suspected had been his occupation before turning to the church.
“Brynne, how long do you think it will take before we reach Wrexham?” The day was cold and raw, but the threatening gray skies had remained just that, threatening and no actual snow or rainy sleet to slow their journey. A little colder and they would have had a blizzard, but there was too much dampness in the air today so it wasn’t likely.
“I don’t know.” He glanced out the window. “I’ve always considered conversations about the weather deadly dull.”
“I think we’ll have rain,” she said with a grin, challenging him to call her dull. “A heavy, driving torrent carried by the wind as it crosses the salty ocean and sweeps into the green valleys of Wales.”
He laughed. “Feeling poetic today, are we?”
“Since you ask, actually no. I’m feeling quite lost.”
He turned to face her, leaning forward as he frowned in concern. She loved that about Brynne, how his first thought was for her comfort. “Because of those wolves and roses, Lettie?”
She nodded. “But you seem to be lost in your own thoughts today, even more than usual. Would you care to share whatyou’ve been thinking about?” She gazed directly at Brynne, but he quickly turned back to stare out the window as he had been for most of the ride.
She’d pushed too hard.
But she wanted to know what he was thinking, and hoped he was thinking of her. As always, her thoughts were all about him. “I remember a little about Wrexham from my studies. Our tutor insisted that Eugenia and I learn something about England and thought it much more important than teaching us how to play the pianoforte or dance a waltz. I’m glad he did. I enjoyed our history lessons. Although I didn’t pay as close attention in class as you did. You immediately recognized what those roses represented.”
“You would have as well, once you separated their significance from your wolves,” he assured her.
“Perhaps. I still find it confusing.” She sighed. “Did you know that Wrexham is an old market town at the crossroads between Wales and England?”
“Yes, Lettie.”
She asked more questions, but he merely gave one word answers until he didn’t bother to answer at all. She ceased her attempts to make conversation. She was trying to be helpful. Why did he insist on shutting her out?
Roses crept into her thoughts again.
And again, until the image of roses became annoyingly persistent.
And then the wolf appeared again.
Jeremiah, stop it!What did roses have to do with wolves? “I wish you’d just tell me or leave me alone,” she muttered under her breath because her guardian angel was being insufferable. Why didn’t he just go back to Beresford and bother Eugenia?
He’d always liked her better anyway.
Brynne leaned forward and chuckled. “Right then, are you talking to me or Jeremiah?”
“Him.” She grimaced, knowing how much Brynne hated it whenever she mentioned said insufferable and often unintelligible angel. “But I’m quite normal in every other respect,” she thought it important to remind him. “I can’t help it if I hear things or see things that others can’t. Have you ever considered the possibility that I’m not daft but havethe sight?”
“No.” He arched a dark eyebrow and cast her an almost imperceptible grin. “First of all, you are most certainly odd–”
