“You have it, Mr. Brennan. You will disappoint my wife, however. I know when she is counting on a thing, and she wanted you to save your wet clothes from ruin.”
“The clothes are of no matter, sir, and the rain has lessened.”
As Mr. Breese strode to the door with Ethan, his look was contemplative, and Ethan knew much was on the older man’s mind. “I must know, are you and Miss Roth engaged?” he asked.
Ethan paused on the threshold not at all surprised by such a question. “No, sir. But Miss Roth thinks differently in that regard.”
Mr. Breese cocked his head to one side. “It is usually the case when a man travels a great distance across the sea with a woman and her companion.”
“I have given that impression, I know. But Miss Roth is the kind of woman I could never marry, let alone love. Her behavior has shed some light on what I’d be in for if I did.”
Mr. Breese agreed with a light laugh. “I asked the question for good reason, for my niece is dear to me. I would not want her heart to become fixed upon a man who has an understanding elsewhere. You are returning home soon, and if there should be any feelings within her toward you, it would break her heart.”
Ethan could not help but press his brow in a worrisome way. “I would never do anything to hurt Darcy, sir. In the brief time I have known her, we have become friends.”
“Your father—what does he expect from you regarding a bride?”
“My father is deceased. It is Miss Roth’s father who pressed the issue. But I have not bent to his wishes.”
“I have no doubt in due time you shall if she has a handsome dowry. I ask you, do not give Darcy any room to love you, Mr. Brennan, if it is possible you and Miss Roth would eventually marry.”
“The chances of that are slim, sir.” Ethan held out his hand; and Mr. Breese, looking down at it, took it within his and bid him a good day.
On the floor above, Ethan heard the patter of feet crossing the floorboards. Before he turned out the front door, he looked back, seeing Mrs. Breese and her girls at the top of the staircase. In unison, they gave him a dip. He nodded and strode out. His horse sidestepped when he put his foot in the stirrup, and he soothed it with a calm word as he climbed into the saddle.
Heavy and dull beat his heart, as an old longing rose there, sharper now as he lifted his eyes to the window above and saw Darcy come to the sill and lean out on folded arms. Upon seeing him below, she gave him a gentle smile and lifted her hand. He took in the beauty of her face, the way her hair fell loose over her shoulders, the firelight from within the room catching each silken strand.
“You are leaving, Mr. Brennan?” A sound of hushed disappointment etched her voice.
“Indeed, for your aunt fears you are ill and I’ve stayed long enough.”
“If anything, I might inherit a slight cold, nothing more.”
“Should you be sitting at the window then?”
“Of course. I would sit here every day if I had the leisure.” She leaned a little lower. “I am a firm believer, sir, that fresh air and a beautiful view benefit the health.”
Ethan’s hands held the reins. “Beautiful—yes. And there are other things that do the same, that I had not known until recently.”
“What could they be?”
He hesitated, drew nearer, and kept his eyes on hers. “The warmth of your eyes and face for a start.”
She looked down at him stunned. “Your words should be saved for another, Mr. Brennan.”
Ethan steadied his restless horse. “You speak of Miss Roth. I have no more affection for her, or interest in wedding the lady, than a wolf has for a snare.”
Darcy lifted her head from her folded arms and looked down at him with her face flushed, her eyes looking into his. “I hope she is aware of your true feelings, for she seems very attached to you.” Then she reached for the latch. “The wind blows too cool for me now. I must go.”
Before he could say more, she closed the window and moved from it.
Ethan made for the road, down to the bridge that led across the river. He laid the reins hard against the horse and pushed it to a gallop. Mud splashed his boots.