“There.” Mrs. Wesley smiled and moved behind her, urged her chin up with a soft finger until she met her own reflected gaze. “There is my beautiful girl.”
Gwyneth forced a smile for Mrs. Wesley’s sake but did not long study the sallow face in the mirror. Instead, she gathered up her pencil and paper and headed to her trunk to stash them. “I had best hurry. He will be waiting.”
She tossed open the lid to her trunk, set the page upon the other she had sketched of Thad three days prior, and paused. “Mrs. Wesley, do you know how much coin Papa sent with us?”
The woman made a dismissive noise. “More than enough to hold us all over until he joins us, love. Not to worry. You can well afford to buy yourself a little trinket while you are out today.”
“But…” She squeezed her eyes shut and rested her hand on her velvet purse. “But what if he is delayed? With the war worsening…”
“And you think your wise father did not take that into account?” Matronly hands urged her up. “You’ve enough in your trunk alone to see you through several months. He sent more in mine, and more still in Mr. Wesley’s. In case one of us were robbed, he said, and our trunks have a hidden drawer for to keep it. You’ve no worries, love. Here.”
Gwyneth took the reticule Mrs. Wesley held out and watched her drop a few coins into it. Her mind still reeled even as she nodded and snapped shut the top of the pineapple-shaped bag. Papa had sent plenty indeed, but she could not use it all on herself. The Wesleys must be cared for too, as the family they were. Would they stay with her? Or at war’s end would they want to return to England? They had a son in London, after all.
“You look as though you carry the world on your shoulders.” Mrs. Wesley gave her a nudge toward the door. “Go and enjoy a morning out with our handsome host. And you had best return with some color in your cheeks.”
“With this insufferable heat, that ought not be a difficult order to obey.” Bonnet in hand, Gwyneth paused at the threshold. “Thank you, Mrs. Wesley. For your assistance and for being patient with me.”
The woman clucked and waved it off, but her smile looked pleased. “Go on with you.”
She put her bonnet on as she descended the stairs. Though it was still morning, already the pleasant night air had begun to sizzle. And already the exhaustion crept up on her.
Mrs. Wesley was not the only one worrying. This past week, she had kept stranger hours than ever before. Up and reading or drawing or painting until she all but fell over. Sleeping until the red-saturated nightmares chased her from the sanctuary of slumber. Then up again. Rarely did she give any thought to whether sun or moon shone in the heavens but to evaluate how the light would dictate her pursuit.
And inevitably, at some point in the hours of waking, she would shake off concentration or distraction or daze and see a Lane studying her. Concern pulling their smiles into contemplative frowns.
They must all think her an eccentric. Or, worse, unhinged.
Gwyneth gripped her reticule tighter and paused at the base of the stairs. Thad had not said where he would be waiting, but her feet headed down the hall toward his study, so she let them take her where they willed. Perhaps they knew more than her head.
He ducked through the door as soon as she turned the corner, proving her feet right. And though they ought to have paused at his appearance and waited for him to come her way, they yet again took on life of their own when he smiled at her. Drew nearer until she could tuck her hand into the crook of his proffered elbow.
Thad covered her fingers with his. “You look lovely, Gwyneth.”
She had forgotten her gloves. His warm hand made a strange little pull-and-tug flutter in her chest. How long had it been since someone had complimented her? “Thank you.”
“Shall we?” He removed his hand and led her toward the front door, off the porch, out into the intensifying sunlight.
Gwyneth turned her head so that the brim of her bonnet shielded her eyes and saw that his gaze was focused upon her in that studious way of his. Today, for whatever reason, it made her throat go dry. “Is something the matter?”
“I hope not.” The thoughtful tone of his voice made his regard even heavier. “The Wesleys are troubled over you. They cannot fathom why your seasickness has followed you onto land.”
What could she do but lower her head and study the bricks paving the walk?
His hand covered hers again. “Seeing Whittier made it worse, did it not?”
The mere name brought the image back, that gaping wound in the same place Papa had been run through. That same agony on his face, that same desperation to convey one last message.
Run!
It had taken all her will to keep from obeying that silent command again, from running pell-mell into the street and not stopping until her legs gave out, until she outran the monsters behind her.