But MacKenzie’s wide eyes disproved that theory. “Now here comes a bonny lass.”
“Indeed.” Though where were Mother and Jack? He lifted a hand to get her attention, though she was already on a path straight for him. Odd, since he was at the end of the docks opposite the Masquerade, and she couldn’t have known he would be.
Her gaze found him, and her pace increased still more.
His friend lifted fiery brows. “She’s your bonny lass, is she? Well, then, I shall remove myself and accompany the boys to the warehouse.”
Thad nodded, mumbled something about meeting him there later, and started toward Gwyneth. The nearer she drew, the more the twisting of his heart told him it was not simple desire to see him that had sent her running through the streets of town.
Though still, when a gust of wind swept down the avenue and tore another mass of curls loose, he could hardly help sucking in a breath of appreciation. She looked like some sort of mythical character, whimsy and ferocity combined, with that frown upon her brow. Like Miranda, perhaps, from Shakespeare’s Tempest. So bound to the wind and rain that one could never be sure if she echoed it or it her.
“Thad.” She flew over the last few feet, hands extended and worry darkening her eyes.
Her hands he took in his, finding them warm and rain-wet. “What is the matter, sweet?”
“Your mother.” She paused to draw in a long breath and tilted her head back so she might look at him. “A group of men rushed by and knocked her down. She has injured her ankle. Can you bring the carriage?”
Mother, hurt? He wove her arm through his and led her toward the vehicle. “Of course. Is it bad?” It must be for Mother to admit to the need for assistance.
“She would not say for Jack’s sake, but it must pain her a good deal or she never would have asked me to come for you.”
“How well you know her already.” He hurried them around a corner and signaled to Henry, who was even then emerging from a warehouse. “Where are she and Jack?”
“Ah.” Though her feet didn’t slow, her face reflected a pause. “Some…I believe…a haberdasher. The one…that is…I am not sure of the direction.”
Thad pulled open the door to the carriage and helped her up. “And how did you find me if you didn’t know the way?”
Eyes wide, she sat upon the cushion and untied the ribbon that had kept her bonnet from flying off. Then she shrugged in such a way that made him want to gather her close and laugh.
He settled for a smile as he climbed up behind her and pulled the door tight. “The one beside the stationer’s?”
The shake of her head was decisive. No doubt she would have paid close attention had she been near her beloved paper. “No, it was near the chandler’s.”
“Ah.” He opened the window enough to stick his head out into the gusting rain. “Henry, could you take us to Mortimer’s Haberdashery? Mother hurt her ankle.”
Henry was even then vaulting to his place upon the box. “Sure thing, Captain. Won’t take but a few minutes.”
Settling back down, he shut out the rain and turned to Gwyneth, who had already managed to repin her hair and put her bonnet back on, much to his dismay. She offered him a tight smile. “Have I met Henry’s wife yet? I cannot recall.”
“You would, if you had.” A breath of amusement slipped its way into the statement.
Gwyneth’s brows lifted. “Why is that? Has she three noses?”
“Right on the first try.” Had Emmy heard him say so, she would have delivered a sound smack to the back of his head. And had her husband heard him…Henry would only laugh and tell him to say it again when she could hear. Which he would be happy to do, to see that fire of temper leap into her eyes. She had always been as fun to torment as Philly and Amelia.
Gwyneth lifted her eyes to the ceiling and shook her head. Though the gleam soon dimmed to worry. “I do hope your mother isn’t too hurt.”
He looked down at their interwoven fingers. When had he reached for her hand? Or had she reached for his? Hard to say, given how comfortable her fingers felt around his, as if they belonged so always. “I assume Jack stayed with her?”
She nodded, her gaze falling too to their joined hands before lifting to his face again. “Do you…” Tugging her fingers free, she cleared her throat. “Do you see your nieces and nephews much? Amelia’s children, I mean? Obviously not as much as you do Jack, whom you obviously think of in much the same way.”
“Much the same, yes.” Though not exactly. A complexity he was not about to explain during a five-minute carriage ride. He leaned back and studied her. Did she ask merely to have something about which to talk? Or was she genuinely curious? “But I haven’t seen Amelia and Jacob’s family nearly so much as I would like since the war began.”