and cinnamon and knew they were part of her unique fragrance.
“Why do you wear it then?” he asked. Stupid question. Why was he talking about clothing? He had no idea what he wore himself. He’d pulled clothing at random from the clothespress and did his best to dress himself. He’d gotten pretty good at it, but he doubted he looked presentable.
“I’m poor and don’t have many others.”
Her response made him forget whatever retort he had planned. No one discussed how poor they were. It wasn’t done.
“I...”
“You needn’t feel sorry for me,” she said, placing her hand on his arm. Nash jumped at the contact. It had been a long time since anyone had touched him casually or without violence. Her hand was small and light, but he pulled his arm away as though she’d burned him.
“My parents are missionaries and they gave all they had to the parish church,” she went on, not sounding offended by his rejection of her touch. In the meantime, Nash wished she would touch him again. If she did it again, he wouldn’t pull away.
“There were four of us children, and we never had enough to eat or new clothing to wear, but my parents took care of the church before their own.”
Nash would have expected some bitterness in her voice, but she spoke matter-of-factly and without rancor. In fact, she sounded almost bemused. As though growing up in poverty was entertaining and watching her parents give away all their worldly goods a diversion.
“Is your family living in Milcroft?” he asked, thinking he would need to have a word with the vicar. This family was obviously being taken advantage of. It did cross his mind that there was no reason he should care as this was not his concern or his problem, but it bothered him, nonetheless.
“Oh no.” He could picture her waving her hand to dismiss the very notion. “This was in London. And Marrakesh. Constantinople and Rome and Cairo.”
“You’ve traveled the world.”
“You could put it that way. My parents went wherever the heathens might be.”
“Are there many heathens in Rome?”
“The Catholics,” she whispered conspiratorially then laughed. She had a laugh like a bell. Not one of those small dainty bells at the end of a pull that summoned servants, but a large booming church bell that rang out in a large city.
He almost smiled in response. Instead, he waited until her laughter died down. “But you’ve come to Milcroft to reform the heathens here. Presumably, you mean to start with me.”
“Is that what you think?” she asked, still sounding amused. “That someone would travel all the way from Cairo to Milcroft because Mr. Pope needed to find religion?”
When she put it that way, it did sound rather self-absorbed. “Then why are you here?” he asked, losing patience.
“Here in Milcroft or here in front of your house?”
“Both. Either.” He shook his head. “Yes.”
“I am in Milcroft because my parents left me behind while they travel to the Far East to join another missionary group. I have been entrusted to the care of Mr. Higginbotham while they are away, though at three and twenty I hardly think I need a guardian. Still, after the incident in Cairo I suppose they don’t trust me.”
This was a lot to take in, and Nash was trying to sort his questions. Unfortunately, the first that came to mind was the least important. “Who is Mr. Higginbotham?”
She laughed then went quiet. “Oh, but you really do not know. My goodness! You are a heathen. Mr. Higginbotham is the vicar of Milcroft. Don’t you ever attend church?”
“No. You mustn’t have been here long if you don’t know that.”
“Only about six weeks. Or perhaps eight weeks. Time seems particularly slow in this part of the world.”
Nash could not argue with that. There were times he thought a week had passed and it would only have been two days.
“And why are you in front of my house?” he asked, this being the question he’d wanted to ask before. She was not, apparently, wrong about him being self-centered.
“I wanted to apologize.”
“For?” He could think of any number of things she might apologize for, but he wondered what she thought worthy of regret. She had been trespassing on his land. She had been singing a bawdy tune. She had pulled him down on top of her. Though he hadn’t minded that last part so much.
“For offering you assistance.”
Nash waited for her to go on as that statement made no sense whatsoever.
“And so I apologize, but