She breathed in the smell of grass and good soil. If Dr. Edmunds married again, he would do well to raise his children here. Inexplicably, Rachel’s throat tightened, and she had to look away.
Wheels crunching gravel, the carriage rattled on to the front door and pulled to a halt. Dr. Edmunds pulled his horse alongside and hopped down. Tying the reins to an iron loop dangling from a post, he came over to the carriage, the tails of his greatcoat flapping against his boots.
“There doesn’t appear to be anyone here right now, Mrs. Mainprice,” he said. “The steward said he opened the house and aired it out, had one of his girls take up all the furniture covers and sweep out the worst of the cobwebs. I expect there’s much left to be done, however, such as examining the water damage upstairs.”
“I’m sure Mr. Jackson and his girls did the best they could. We’ll manage the rest, sir. Leave the work to us,” she said confidently, giving a groan as she squeezed her way through the narrow carriage door. Peg slipped out behind.
“I trust the remainder of your trip was comfortable, Miss Dunne?” he asked as Rachel descended the unfolded carriage steps, his fingertips brushing her elbow in assistance.
Her heart lifted on the crisp air filling her lungs, air that didn’t stink of coal smoke or sewers. “Very comfortable, Dr. Edmunds, and much better than steerage on a steamer.”
“Do you like the house?” he asked, sounding eager for her response.
“I do. It seems an honest place.”
“Honest is an unusual word to use.”
“However the description feels suitable. The house is so perfect and simple. Such a building would not permit the occupant to be anything but upright and straightforward, like the courses of the bricks themselves.”
“My father was a very upright man. A good man.”
“As surely are you.”
He looked down at her. They stood together, too close to be proper, the air warming from his proximity.
“I appreciate the compliment, Miss Dunne. However, I do not deserve it,” he said, his gaze gone solemn, regretful. What could a man like him possibly regret? What memory tortured him so?
Peg called to him from the side of the house, stopping him before he could say more. “Dr. Edmunds, sir, the back door’s been left open for us.”
“I will speak with you later.” He pulled his gaze off Rachel and stepped away from her.
Mrs. Mainprice was waiting for Rachel at the corner of the house. She accompanied the housekeeper to the kitchen door, casting one last glance at where Dr. Edmunds stood in conversation with Peg.
“We’ve much work to accomplish, Miss Dunne, if you want some time to see the grounds,” said Mrs. Mainprice, stepping over the high stone threshold.
Just before Rachel did the same, she noticed Dr. Edmunds return her glance and hold it. Long enough that the contact felt like an invisible caress.
Guard your heart, Rachel.
But it was too late.
Odd to be in his father’s house without the old man.
James moved from one room to the next, delaying meeting with Miss Dunne. He needed to do this, prod the wounds, to observe if they were healing clean or infected still. He already knew what to expect he would discover.
He pushed open the dining room door. Mr. Jackson’s daughter had forgotten to remove the cover from the walnut dining table. It hung mute and still and white as a winding sheet. James could picture his father at the head of the table, lecturing on botany or the phases of the moon or the discovery of nitrous oxide and its possible uses. Quoting from the Bible as easily as he could recite passages from William Buchan’s massive medical text. Mother, when she’d been well enough to join them, wearing her wan, passive smile. And James, not learning his role until too late, daring to argue, turning his father’s face crimson.
James retreated from the space and wandered down to the library. Here the memories would be the strongest. Easing open the door, he entered the hushed room. Curtains drawn, it was nearly as dark as James’s library back in London. He could pull aside the draperies here, however. Beyond these windows didn’t stand a garden of recrimination. James opened the curtains and surveyed the room. So far as he could tell, nothing had been touched since the day his father had taken ill and had been ushered off to a bedchamber that, according to his housekeeper, he had never left again. James should have been there