Odd. She set her teacup down and lifted her fork again. This family did not seem to avoid other difficult subjects. They spoke so freely of their concerns for the war underway, for Captain Arnaud and Jack, for Gwyneth. And, in recent days, even their worries for the responsibilities of what they referred to as the Culper Ring—their groups of intelligencers, as Thad had requested they be called.
The Culper Ring. The name made her shiver as she took a bite of sausage, though she was unsure why. Certainly the words themselves had no great meaning to her. But the fact that they had a group that needed a name…
Her fingers tightened around the fork. They seemed such a normal family. Loving and open and…and…knowable. Like Papa had always seemed. Well admired, well respected, trustworthy.
Why must it all be marred by secrets?
“Are you ready, dear?”
Gwyneth blinked away the rumination and realized everyone had finished eating, herself included. She could scarcely recall what anything had tasted like, but only a few scraps remained on her plate. She summoned a smile. “Certainly. I will go fetch my bonnet and reticule.”
Minutes later she came back downstairs to find Mrs. Lane and Thad standing on the porch examining the sky.
“I think it will hold off another few hours,” he said.
Mrs. Lane nodded. “Excellent. I should like a bit of exercise if that suits you, Gwyneth dear.”
“It suits me well, ma’am, thank you.” And it would without question suit Jack, who was even then dashing about the lawn outside.
“I had better take a carriage, though, as I daresay I will not beat the weather home. And you two had better not dawdle.” Thad’s gaze moved to include Gwyneth, and he held out a hand toward her.
She had no reason to put hers in it. None whatsoever. She certainly needed no help walking down the two steps off the porch, and as he would have to repair to the carriage house, he would not be seeing them to the street. But he invited. And before she could control her wayward limbs, she had stepped forward and rested her fingers in his.
Eyes sparkling with mischief and something far warmer she daren’t name, he raised her hand to his lips and pressed a kiss to her knuckles. “I shall see you at the Masquerade.”
Images blurred together in her mind, the words conjuring up a different setting, a different man. Hyde Park before her instead of a Baltimore lawn, Sir Arthur Hart’s gaze lingering on her, a short quarter hour after their introduction. I shall see you at the masquerade. They had just established they had both accepted the same invitation, and he had requested she save him a dance. Oh, how excited she had been.
She blinked, and the memory faded to a fog. The masquerade had been naught but a crush of bodies, the rooms overcrowded. No real mystery as she had wanted there to be. And though she had danced that reel with Sir Arthur, they had barely exchanged a score of words. It had been nothing. Nothing.
Drawing in a deep breath, she gripped Thad’s fingers and gave him a small smile. “You shall indeed.” His Masquerade was built of solider stuff than expectation. And his face was one that evoked in her something far more than the giddy thrill of Sir Arthur’s.
She was no fool, though. Given the way her emotions had been swinging like a pendulum these months, she would not put too much weight on them. Even if they overwhelmed her as she stepped away and followed his mother to intercept Jack. When Mrs. Lane shot her a knowing grin, heat stained Gwyneth’s cheeks.
They walked a goodly ways with only Jack’s impromptu song about the birds to break the silence. When his serenade lapsed into an enthusiastic hum, Mrs. Lane turned warm green eyes on Gwyneth. “Are you happy with us, my dear? Your grief aside.”
A small laugh slipped out. When had she last considered something so transient as happiness? Perhaps, fleetingly, during that bit of the Season. But in general, not since Mama fell ill. And yet…was there anywhere else she would rather be now than with the Lanes? Nay. “I…I suppose I am, as much as I can be at this juncture. Though there is so much to worry over, not the least of which is what I might be bringing upon you by being here.”
Mrs. Lane laughed, a beautiful sound as vivacious as her daughter’s. “Gwyn, you have brought nothing to our door we did not first invite. You surely realize that.”
A truth she couldn’t deny, much as she wished she could. She looked from her hostess to Jack and to the city, so young compared to those she knew. And then beyond, to the glimpse of treetops and churning gray sky. What wilds lay that way? Frontiers as yet untouched, filled with dangers unknown? Were the roads between here and Canada safe or wrought with peril? “I do hope the Wesleys write and let me know they are well. To think of them traveling so far without so much as a pass—”
“Ah, you needn’t worry about that part.” Mrs. Lane looped their arms together and gave her a comforting smile. “Thaddeus gave them his.”