Redeeming the Reclusive Earl - Virginia Heath Page 0,54

I do not think or plan beyond that.’

The absolute truth. Admitting it aloud gave him palpitations, but in a strange sort of way. Admitting it to her also made him feel less alone.

‘Understandable given what you have been through. You have been grieving so many things—’ She reached across the desk and lay her palm over his hand. Something about her touch made him feel instantly better too. ‘But mourning officially lasts a year, Max. Any more is unhealthy. It’s time to cast aside your widow’s weeds.’

She was right. He knew she was right—but the prospect of doing it was daunting. ‘I am not sure I know where to start.’

‘We both know you have already started. Your mind is craving purpose again and once that begins, everything else gradually follows. Your soul will not repair itself overnight—but it will mend, Max. I promise.’ Her hand squeezed his and he suppressed the urge to turn his palm and lace his fingers with hers where they belonged.

Belonged? Where the hell had that stupid thought come from?

‘Go and apologise to your sister and invite her lovely family to visit.’ She stayed his instinctive rejection with her finger on his lips and he forget everything he had intended to say. ‘For the sake of her soul, my Lord Recluse—not yours. And then, if you still need some purpose today, I have a pickaxe urgently awaiting your attention.’ She severed the contact and slid off the table, leaving his lips tingling and a comforting puff of roses and lilacs in her wake which surrounded him like an embrace. ‘I happen to know Mrs Farley’s fruitcake won’t have been spoiled by the sun because it is steeped in enough brandy to preserve a corpse.’

She was right about everything. He knew and felt strangely humbled by her insight. Yet he also felt afraid. Looking forward terrified him, but there was nothing positive to be gained in constantly glancing back. Not when the die was cast and, as much as he might wish it, he couldn’t change it. But perhaps with Effie’s help he could move forward. He wanted to.

So wanted to.

‘You know I am putty when it comes to Mrs Farley’s fruitcake. Why didn’t you mention it sooner? It would have saved you the lecture.’

‘Where would the fun be in that?’ Rather than open the door, Effie left via the window she had arrived through. She smiled and was less than a few yards away down the garden when he realised he wasn’t at all ready for her to leave.

‘Wait...’ She turned on the path, her dark head tilted in question, the copper in her hair shimmering in the sunlight. The bane of his life and the balm to his soul. ‘Was this all a ruse to get me to do your dirty work, Miss Not-above-knavery-to-get-her-own-way?’

She beamed, then shrugged, unrepentant, before sashaying away. ‘You have half an hour, Max. Then I am eating all the fruitcake myself.’

Chapter Fourteen

Dig day 798: no progress whatsoever, thanks to three interminable days of torrential rain. But the sun is out now. Which is just as well...

Effie was no stranger to remorse.

When one frequently spoke or acted without thinking, which she did as a matter of course most days, remorse reliably often followed. However, this dose was niggling worse than usual because it hadn’t come about because her mind had raced ahead before her mouth caught up, it had come about by telling a lie.

A big, fat and dishonest lie which she wasn’t entirely sure what to do about.

The rain had had a bearing because she hadn’t been able to dig for days, which in turn meant she was all alone at home with her noisy brain going slowly mad. And with idle hands, the Devil had apparently made use of hers.

Although in her defence, not that she could really defend the indefensible, she had not set out to lie. With nothing better to do, she had resorted to busying herself by properly organising and expanding her notes on the dig site, which had rapidly turned into another research paper to send to the Society of Antiquaries. She then followed it by writing a heartfelt letter, passionately explaining