for years turns out to be so far above her touch.”
His expression was genuinely—reassuringly—baffled. “What did you ever see in me, Polonaise? I am no more above your touch than Soldier is fit for the Derby.”
“You are telling me the truth, now.” She wished she had her sketch pad, so she might catch that bemusement on his features. “I treasured that, you know? When our entire household was at sixes and sevens, you always told us women the truth. Allie noticed it first, that you never prevaricated with her, even when Sara and I were trying to spare her.”
“You like that I have no tact?”
“I like that you have courage,” she said softly, “and you are more affectionate than you want people to know.”
“Affectionate?”
With her finger, she traced on her thigh the curve of his upper lip. “Don’t say it like it’s an insult. You carried Allie around on that bad back of yours, you were always scratching and petting the beasts, and I know about those nights you spent arguing over cards with Beck. You left your brandy glasses about like the lordly fellows you truly are.”
“Until you scolded us for our sloth,” he replied, his slight smile flashing in the dim light. “And one can’t help Beckman’s nature. His whole family is that way, like wolves that spend the night in the same cave, all draped over each other with no dignity at all.”
“You held me.”
“Is that an accusation?”
“It’s a blessed fact.” Polly drew the curve of his smile next. He was self-conscious about this topic but not bolting from the discussion entirely. “I was the irascible, cranky cook, and you were the irascible, cranky steward, and you spiked my guns simply by putting your arms around me one night and telling me to hush.”
She lapsed into silence, letting the memory have a space of respect in their dialogue. She’d been so wroth when the lazy twins bearing the title of footmen had helped themselves to the dessert intended for the next night’s meal. Allie had been a brat, Sara was upset with Allie, and Polly’s courses had been tormenting her for two straight days. She’d picked up a tin cup, intent on hurling it at the fire, when Gabriel had come in too late for supper and asked what a man might find for sustenance.
And midway through her harangue about a grown man being able to tell time, he’d simply slipped his arms around her, gently pushed her head to his shoulder, and told her to hush. She’d made a token protest, more surprise than indignation, and then let him soothe her with the simple comfort of his body next to hers. Then he’d sat her down, fixed her a cup of tea, and set out bread, cheese, apples, and butter, and made her eat with him.
That encounter had marked a turning point in their dealings, one punctuated with shared looks, shared cups of tea, and occasional embraces.
“You weren’t afraid of me,” Polly said.
“Nor you of me,” he replied, and he might have leaned toward her a hair or two on those words. “I wasn’t trifling, Polonaise. If I were trifling, you’d hate me now.”
“How do you know I don’t?”
“You have a temper, but you don’t hate me. You only needed someone to be with you. You deserved a great deal more than I had to offer.”
“That was for me to judge.” Polly had a terrible urge to ask him for another of those embraces, so comforting and dear. She had missed him, missed him until her guts had ached with it, until she had no more tears to mark the sentiment.
“You think everything is for you to judge,” Gabriel rejoined, affection in his voice. “When I say it’s time for you to leave here, Polonaise, you’ll go. That is for me to judge.”
She gave him another glare, though his infernal conditions suggested he might genuinely be worried for her safety. He’d do that and let her think it was his concern over her ability to hold his confidences troubling him.
Idiot man.
“You’re going to have to tell your brother what
His expression was genuinely—reassuringly—baffled. “What did you ever see in me, Polonaise? I am no more above your touch than Soldier is fit for the Derby.”
“You are telling me the truth, now.” She wished she had her sketch pad, so she might catch that bemusement on his features. “I treasured that, you know? When our entire household was at sixes and sevens, you always told us women the truth. Allie noticed it first, that you never prevaricated with her, even when Sara and I were trying to spare her.”
“You like that I have no tact?”
“I like that you have courage,” she said softly, “and you are more affectionate than you want people to know.”
“Affectionate?”
With her finger, she traced on her thigh the curve of his upper lip. “Don’t say it like it’s an insult. You carried Allie around on that bad back of yours, you were always scratching and petting the beasts, and I know about those nights you spent arguing over cards with Beck. You left your brandy glasses about like the lordly fellows you truly are.”
“Until you scolded us for our sloth,” he replied, his slight smile flashing in the dim light. “And one can’t help Beckman’s nature. His whole family is that way, like wolves that spend the night in the same cave, all draped over each other with no dignity at all.”
“You held me.”
“Is that an accusation?”
“It’s a blessed fact.” Polly drew the curve of his smile next. He was self-conscious about this topic but not bolting from the discussion entirely. “I was the irascible, cranky cook, and you were the irascible, cranky steward, and you spiked my guns simply by putting your arms around me one night and telling me to hush.”
She lapsed into silence, letting the memory have a space of respect in their dialogue. She’d been so wroth when the lazy twins bearing the title of footmen had helped themselves to the dessert intended for the next night’s meal. Allie had been a brat, Sara was upset with Allie, and Polly’s courses had been tormenting her for two straight days. She’d picked up a tin cup, intent on hurling it at the fire, when Gabriel had come in too late for supper and asked what a man might find for sustenance.
And midway through her harangue about a grown man being able to tell time, he’d simply slipped his arms around her, gently pushed her head to his shoulder, and told her to hush. She’d made a token protest, more surprise than indignation, and then let him soothe her with the simple comfort of his body next to hers. Then he’d sat her down, fixed her a cup of tea, and set out bread, cheese, apples, and butter, and made her eat with him.
That encounter had marked a turning point in their dealings, one punctuated with shared looks, shared cups of tea, and occasional embraces.
“You weren’t afraid of me,” Polly said.
“Nor you of me,” he replied, and he might have leaned toward her a hair or two on those words. “I wasn’t trifling, Polonaise. If I were trifling, you’d hate me now.”
“How do you know I don’t?”
“You have a temper, but you don’t hate me. You only needed someone to be with you. You deserved a great deal more than I had to offer.”
“That was for me to judge.” Polly had a terrible urge to ask him for another of those embraces, so comforting and dear. She had missed him, missed him until her guts had ached with it, until she had no more tears to mark the sentiment.
“You think everything is for you to judge,” Gabriel rejoined, affection in his voice. “When I say it’s time for you to leave here, Polonaise, you’ll go. That is for me to judge.”
She gave him another glare, though his infernal conditions suggested he might genuinely be worried for her safety. He’d do that and let her think it was his concern over her ability to hold his confidences troubling him.
Idiot man.
“You’re going to have to tell your brother what
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