“Th-thanks.” I hoped that the indirect overhead lighting would conceal my blushes. “I’d have come back for them, but I—”
“No need to explain,” said Gerald. “Even the most conscientious of executive assistants deserves an occasional evening off.” He let his eyes rove over the altar, the pews, the stained-glass windows. “May I be of service? I’m an excellent tour guide. When I moved here two years ago, I made it a point to explore my new surroundings.” The deep notes of his voice were like organ chords rippling the still air of the empty church.
“That’s a very generous offer,” I said, backing away a step or two, “but I was hoping for some time to myself.”
Gerald’s dimple vanished. “Very well,” he said. He turned toward the door, hesitated, then swung around to face me again. “Miss Shepherd, if I’ve offended you in any way—”
“What makes you think I’m offended?” I asked.
Gerald flung his hands wide. “One moment you were staying to tea and the next you were leaving. I can’t help but feel as though I said or did something to upset you.”
“I told you—”
“That you were hastening back to inform your employer about those papers,” Gerald broke in. “Papers so important that you could afford to leave them at the Larches until after you’d finished your stroll. I’m not a fool, Miss Shepherd.” He bowed his head suddenly, and took his lower lip between his teeth. “But I am being rude. Forgive me.” He turned his head to avoid my gaze and edged sideways along the nearest pew, making a beeline for the door.
“Why do you care?” I called, without thinking. “Why should my feelings matter to you?”
Gerald stopped his sideways shuffle and leaned on the pew in front of him, his broad shoulders hunched, as though he’d been struck in the chest. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “I’ve hurt a lot of people recently, Miss Shepherd, and I haven’t been allowed to apologize to any of them. The thought of doing it again ...” His blue-green eyes flashed an appeal in my direction. “Was it what I said about my father? When I spoke of his illness you looked so melancholy that I thought perhaps your own father ...”
“No.” I studied his face, looking for a trace of duplicity, but finding only pain and confusion. I couldn’t let him go without giving him some explanation. Reluctantly, I slid in beside him as he sank onto the wooden bench, half turned toward me, one arm resting on the pew in front of ours.
“My father died when I was three months old,” I told him quietly. “I don’t remember anything about him, but I always wondered what it would be like to have a father. When I ... went to work for Mr. Willis, I felt as though I’d found one.” I sighed. “And now it looks as though I’ll lose him, too.”
“He’s not ill, I hope,” Gerald said, bending toward me.
“There are other ways to lose people,” I said. “This proposal of his, for example. I know you’re not at liberty to discuss it, and I know it’d be to your advantage, and I know that I have no right to ask you to make such a sacrifice, but if he brings it up again, I’d ... I’d be very grateful if you’d discourage him from following through on it.”
Gerald sat back against the pew and gazed at the altar. “It’s true that Cousin William asked me to keep our conversation confidential,” he acknowledged. “He doesn’t want his son or daughter-in-law to get wind of his plans until he has his ducks in a row.” Gerald glanced worriedly at me as I gave a low, involuntary moan. “I’m sorry, Miss Shepherd, but I have no power to influence your employer one way or the other. As I told you, I’m through with the law. I have no intention of going into practice again, with Cousin William or anyone else.” He leaned forward, his elbows on his knees, his long fingers interlaced. “That part of my life is over.”
He sounded so dejected that I laid a hand on his arm and said, “It’s all right, Gerald. I’ll just have to try again with your cousin Lucy.” I felt a slight tremor pass through his body and wondered if Lucy had been the one who’d forced him to leave the firm.
Gerald turned to face me, and I was once again conscious of the breadth of his shoulders. They seemed to span the space between the pews. “Why are you so set against Cousin William’s plans?”
“Because I’ll lose him,” I replied, trying to keep my voice from trembling. “Don’t you see? There’ll be a whole ocean between us.”
“Couldn’t you come with him?” Gerald suggested.
I shook my head. I should have been discussing Bill’s father with Bill, not with some cousin so far removed he could scarcely be called family. “You don’t understand,” I said, dropping my gaze. “I have commitments, obligations. Mr. Willis’s son would expect me to ... work for him.”
“Ah,” said Gerald. He paused, and I felt his bright eyes search my face. “You care about him, don’t you.”
“The son?” A flash flood of resentment surged through me. “I hardly know him.”