Page 29 of Fair Weather Enemies
“Indeed. Although I would not mind riding. I remain uncertain about the endurance of my shoes. Though they are suitable for slow walks in the countryside, I doubt their durability on twenty miles of Roman cobblestones.”
“But walking is good for the constitution. It will make you strong.”
She snickered. “I am plenty strong enough, thank you. Not that I may count that to my credit. Eligible bachelors hardly prize strength in a woman. I believe they prefer a shrinking violet to a wildflower.”
“Good point.” He stared into the distance before glancing her way again. “Although, I am rather fond of wildflowers.”
She glanced at him, seemingly startled, before turning her face away to regard again the river. “And I am rather fond of these shoes.”
“Should they fail, I will loan you my boots.”
“Then what will you wear?”
He straightened his spine and lifted his chin. “I will walk barefoot as did my distant ancestors. If bare feet were good enough for them, then bare feet are good enough for me.”
“You forget one important fact.”
“And that is?”
“They are all dead. Perhaps their lack of suitable footwear was to blame.”
He snorted a laugh, amused at her droll delivery. “Excellent point. Then I would have to carry you instead.”
She shook her head vigorously. “That will never do. Such a reckless act might make us friends, and as you know, we shall…”
“Never be friends. Yes, I know.”
She shot him a sharp glare and then swept her eyes over him appraisingly. “Speaking of your boots, I must again express my surprise at your rustic attire. I did not believe a gentleman of your dandy reputation could possess clothing so coarse and common.”
He straightened his hat, which was something of a relic, and looked down at her. “I am not the dandy you believe. While I admit to wearing finery in public for show, I prefer more comfortable attire when at home. As did my father before me. In fact, the boots, coat, and hat are his.”
He gripped his coat by the collar, lifted it to his nose, and inhaled. The scent of his departed father lingered there, indescribable to others but achingly familiar to him.
“It still smells of him, although I cannot say how.”
She nodded as a look of empathy crossed her face. “I understand. I keep my father’s handkerchief and my mother’s bonnet for just that reason.”
The moment of shared experience threatened to rattle him. How could he maintain a firm grip on his enmity toward the Hancocks when Jane insisted on stirring his sympathy instead? He stared ahead, struggling to collect his scattering emotions. Jane interrupted that effort.
“May I ask a possibly improper question, Adam?”
“I suppose, so long as I am not required to answer.”
“Very well.” She paused for several heartbeats, perhaps reconsidering, but spoke anyway. “When you agreed to marry Miss Rutley, regardless of the coin toss outcome, you appeared to hesitate. Do you possess romantic feelings for her?”
He opened his mouth to reply but froze. Walking alongside Jane, his prudent compromise now seemed tainted. Romantic seemed too strong a word. He sighed. “She is a perfectly lovely girl, and fine company.”
“You love her, then?”
He stared ahead while wrestling with the truth. “I love my land. Her…I will love in time.” Silence lingered awkwardly before he cleared his throat. “What of you? Are you the object of some young man’s interest?”
She expelled a disdainful laugh and waved him away. “Heavens, no. I am merely a miller’s daughter, not a woman of elevated station. And even if I were the Queen of Sheba, young men would continue to shun me. They seem to prefer a wife with a sizeable dowry, while all I offer is several thousand pounds of debt and the prospect of eternity in debtor’s prison.”
Her cheeks flushed abruptly as she looked away. She lifted a gloved hand briefly to her cheek, perhaps to wipe away an unseen tear, before facing him again. Her smile appeared distinctly forced.
“No. I am not the object of anyone’s interest. My only salvation lies in finding the gold, winning the game of cross and pile, and erasing my substantial debts. Over time, perhaps the mill may again provide a suitable living for Aunt Hester and me. If I am beyond fortunate, it may do so before I grow too old to find love.”
At her blunt confession, unwanted emotions stirred again in Adam. Sympathy gave way to empathy as he imagined the possible roads ahead of her, one bitter and the other disastrous. He eyed her covertly, noting how the soft angularity of her features highlighted pouting lips. And how she swayed when walking, seemingly unaware of the hypnotic effect it might have on a man. He jerked his eyes forward when she caught him staring. With focus restored, he reminded himself that she was a Hancock and therefore a waste of a perfectly attractive woman. He shifted his eyes to find her watching him suspiciously.
