Lorena saw eagerness in the boy’s wide-eyed expression and offered him her hand, the book forgotten. “Of course. Show me your surprise.”
Drew led her back to the closed cabin door. With a turn of the latch she opened it to reveal a modest stateroom as luxuriously built as the great cabin but decidedly feminine in décor.
Decidedly familiar also.
Lorena spun about and sat on the bed with a bounce. She ran her hands over the blue-and-white-diamond coverlet. “This is from my own bed in Duxboro.” Gaily wrapped packages lay across her pillow, but her gaze did not linger, as there was much to see. The cabin held many of her own personal items, from her grandmother’s framed sampler on the wall to the rug beneath her feet.
“And those draperies on the porthole there, I believe they are sewn from the very same silk brocade Mrs. Culliford helped me select with the purpose of making pillows for the settee in my room. And here is my trunk, I see.” She leapt off the bed to look inside and found it filled with her clothes and slippers, the book she’d been reading before her unfortunate departure, and her needlework and embroidery basket.
“I feel so at home. But that, I suspect, was the whole intent, was it not?” It was more statement than question. Still, Lorena directed those words to Brogan, who remained standing at the threshold as though he preferred observing from a distance.
She offered him a grateful smile, then bending down scooped Drew into her arms. Brushing the curls from his face, she pressed a kiss to his temple. “As miserable a time as I had, knowing I was sailing away from home, we are now going to have the most wonderful adventure returning together.”
He nodded, then wriggled from her embrace to climb on the bed. “Open your gifts!”
“They’re from your family,” Brogan said. Lorena sensed a sudden reserve in his tone and bearing, in stark contradiction to Drew, who quaked with excitement.
The child presented her with a small painted tin. “This is from me.”
Lorena seated herself beside him as they conspired to open first the lid and next a layer of tissue paper. They peered inside together, heads touching.
She made certain to gasp with delight. “Maple sugar fudge. Thank you, sweetheart, you thoughtful boy. How long you must have been waiting for me to open it, when we both know how well you enjoy candy. Shall we celebrate with a piece before supper?”
His enthusiastic nod was answer enough. Drew reached into the tin with one hand and then the other.
Lorena then offered the tin to Brogan. “I know you won’t mind, Brogan. You and Drew are two of a kind in that you both share a taste for sweets.”
He surprised her by refusing with a shake of his head. Moments ago he’d endeavored to make her welcome merry, and now that she was indeed bursting with gaiety, he seemed to have gone strangely pensive.
Lorena puzzled over him, then selected a piece of fudge for herself and bit into it.
Drew handed her one package after another. There was a small painted fan from her father, a pair of white silk stockings embellished with embroidery from Mrs. Culliford, and a shell comb from Temperance. Lorena skimmed their notes, preferring to read them in private later when the day’s excitement did not have her thoughts so distracted.
One very small gift remained. It bore no note.
Drew dropped it into her palm.
Lorena loosed the ribbon and peeled back the paper. A shiny silver thimble shone up at her. She held it up and saw that it was etched with tiny hearts and cupids.
She knew immediately whom it was from and scooted off the bed, before thoughts of propriety or self-consciousness dissuaded her, and stood openly before Brogan with affection shining in her eyes. “Thank you.” Two simple words, but in her heart they meant so much more, words she could not express. “I will cherish it always.”
As she gazed into those intense blue eyes, what shone back awakened her soul. Burning like a flame, a reflection of her own passionate feelings, a surrender, a humbleness that for a moment allowed her to peer into the heart of his being. And what she saw was a man haunted by pain and guilt.
It seemed he wished to tell her something, but whatever Brogan’s thoughts, he chose to keep them hidden as she watched him withdraw into himself.
“George said some awful things about me,” she said. “He spoke in anger. I want you to know they aren’t true in the least.”
All vulnerability in his expression disappeared. He gave her no more response than a nod. Lorena presently was feeling too weary and uncertain to push him further.
“Get some rest,” he said. “I’ll have you called to supper.”
He spoke as though relations between them were proper and formal. Lorena suspected not. She suspected their guards had been lowered in the realization they shared more in common than either of them could have imagined. Perhaps much of it had to do with their mutual affection for Drew, but during their short time apart, feelings of friendship and attraction had grown into a deeper respect and caring.