return home sooner than that. But I promise a full accounting later.”
“I will look forward to it.” She glanced around the room. “Not too bad here. Tug those covers in place, and we’ll see about the others.”
They went to work. Some of the rooms needed minor repairs—paintings hanging crooked where a shoulder had pressed too close, corners of carpets flipped up by a careless foot.
“I can see we’ll need to fund Mrs. Catchpole’s cleaning crew to go through,” Abigail said as she picked a rock off the carpet in one of the bedchambers.
“And perhaps set up a display at the spa where people can claim what they lost,” Linus added, cloth doll tucked under one arm. “Unless you think some of this was left in the house from previous use.”
She joined him in the center of the room to regard the items he’d found. “That tortoiseshell hair comb, possibly, though it might belong to one of the visitors. The rest likely isn’t fine enough for the Peverells.”
“It was very clever of you to think of sheltering people here,” he said as they started for the door.
“It seemed the logical choice,” Abigail said. “The castle is larger, but more visible, and we know the French are aware of it. But the Lodge wouldn’t have worked for long. We must think of a more viable evacuation plan.”
“And apparently have it approved by the Lord Lieutenant for Dorset.”
Abigail smiled as they headed down the corridor for the stairs. “He must know his plan is aspirational at best. By the time word reached him that we’d evacuated, it would be too late for him to send help. Grace-by-the-Sea must fend for itself.”
He paused at the top of the stairs. “I sense that is your preferred approach to any challenge—to go it alone.”
Abigail frowned at him. “Do you find fault with self-sufficiency?”
“No,” he assured her. “I admire self-sufficiency. However, now I’m finding partnership a far more useful and satisfying alternative.”
As if her heart agreed with him, it started beating faster. “I am listening, sir.”
“There you are,” her mother sang out from the entry hall below. “Ethan and I finished ages ago.”
“May we go home now?” Ethan asked plaintively.
Linus drew in a breath as if reorienting himself. “Go ahead and start back. We’ll speak to Mrs. Kirby and be right behind.”
Resigned, Abigail put a hand to the newel. He juggled the things in his arms to take her other hand in his. “We must talk, Abigail. Perhaps on the way back to the village.”
His touch was warm, his grip sheltering. Buoyed, she nodded. “I’d like that.”
Together, they continued down the stairs to check in with Mrs. Kirby. They had survived the first French incursion, but Abigail could only wonder what the future held—for Grace-by-the-Sea and for her and Linus.
~~~
Linus escorted Abigail out of the Lodge at last. Most of the villagers and their guests had already left. There should be no one to interrupt his conversation with Abigail as they walked home. Once again, he was all too aware of his symptoms: dry mouth, sweaty palms, trouble breathing. Likely somewhat normal when contemplating marriage, especially when he was unsure of his reception.
But a group was waiting on the drive: Mrs. Rand, Miss Turnpeth, and Doctor Owens. The physician hurried to meet him.
“I have never been gladder to see a colleague,” he said with a nod to Abigail as well. “The lady is complaining of chest pains, and she will not heed my advice.”
“I’ll speak to her,” Linus promised. He looked to Abigail, and she nodded. Together, they moved closer.
Mrs. Rand sat on a boulder at the edge of the drive, soft blue skirts pooled about her. Linus could not like her pallor under her feathered bonnet, nor the way her breath came in sharp pants.
He put a hand on her back and bent closer. “Quite a bit of excitement today.”
“Too much,” she agreed, rubbing at her ribs. “The race, the French, the flight up the hill. I came to Grace-by-the-Sea for peace!”
“Ah, but a lady of your stamina generally rebounds from such excitement,” Linus told her. “If I may, would you allow me to listen to your heart?”
“Certainly, sir. I trust you implicitly, unlike some.” She narrowed her eyes at Owens.
Her companion smiled apologetically at the other physician. Owens was watching Linus. So was Abigail.
He pulled back Mrs. Rand’s glove to expose her wrist, then rested two fingers against the base of her thumb, counting the beats to himself. The pulse was a little faster than