Lady in the Mist - Laurie Alice Eakes [18]
They seemed bluer now in his bronzed face. Yet any depth they held didn’t hold a reflection of her soul, of her heart. He claimed he’d come back to her, but she wouldn’t believe him any more than she’d believe the Englishman had been on the beach for nothing more than an early morning stroll.
The Englishman. So attractive. So flirtatious. So nervous in her presence, stealing her attention from the man she should forgive and let herself love again.
Raleigh should consume her thoughts. Or perhaps Mrs. Wilkins and whatever had gone wrong with the lying-in, or the condemnatory rumors Mr. Wilkins might spread about her. Not an Englishman, who looked at her as though—
“Ah!” She jerked her hand away from the roses. Blood speckled her palm where she’d gripped the stem of a bush hard enough to drive the thorns into her skin.
“Stupid, stupid.” She wrapped her hand in her handkerchief and scrambled to her feet. She needed to get a comfrey poultice on the punctures immediately. She couldn’t afford to injure one of her hands. Her hands were her livelihood.
“Patience,” she called to the maid in the kitchen, “get some water boiling.”
“Oh, Miss Tabbie, you’ve never gone and hurt yourself.” Patience poked her head around the frame of the open door. “What if someone’s about to deliver and you can’t use your hand?”
“No one’s about to deliver.” Tabitha slipped into the kitchen and plucked a bunch of comfrey leaves from a jar.
“That’s what you was thinkin’ last night.” Patience swung the water kettle over the hearth and built up the fire. “You thought you’d have a peaceful night of it, and look what happened.”
“It’s not likely to happen again,” Tabitha said, spooning leaves into a teapot and bracing herself for the rotting garbage odor of the healing herbs.
At least she hoped it wouldn’t. She wished to avoid nights where patients died and strangers wandered her beach.
A shudder ran through her, the chill of a cool breeze on a hot, sunny day. Her hand shook, and she spilled the leaves across the table and onto the floor. First the thorn punctures, now a mess to clean up. If she wasn’t careful, the man would have her walking into the ocean instead of along the tide line.
If she saw him again, which was unlikely. As small a village as Seabourne was, she rarely dealt with the mayor and consequently not his servants. She and Letty met while marketing. They exchanged friendly greetings, but Tabitha wasn’t a servant, even with her position as a hireling. She was a professional for all she was a woman, and Letty, with her Old World ways, disapproved of hobnobbing between classes.
And Mrs. Kendall, were there to be a Mrs. Kendall, would never have passed the time of day with Tabitha unless she needed her medical care. Tabitha often felt caught in the middle, neither fish nor fowl, but far too much alone. If she had a husband, women would know where to place her, how to fit her into their gatherings and entertainments.
After cleaning up the spill, she snatched up a cup and dipped water from the simmering kettle to pour in the pot on the table. The rank stench of the comfrey rose on the steam, smelling of anything but an herb possessing its soothing and healing powers.
“I’ll return to the garden until that steeps,” she said.
“Are you avoiding me?” Patience fixed her with an unwavering stare.
Tabitha arched her brows. “Why would I do that?”
“Huh.” Patience plucked onions from a basket and snatched up a knife. “You don’t want to talk about Mr. Trower coming back.”
“I don’t know what to say.” Tabitha traced the punctures on her palm with a forefinger, then gave Patience a sidelong glance. “But I’m sure you do.”
“I do.” Patience sliced through an onion as though she needed to kill it. “I know you want a family, a real family, not just me and Japheth, but I’d make sure that man intends to stay for real before I tumbled head over heels for him again.”
“Never fear that.” Tabitha laughed. “I’m happy he’s still alive and well, but