Saving Lord Berkshire - Laura Beers Page 0,58
slipped past her lips, and she decided it was a good time for her to rest her eyes. After all, nothing good would come from trying to speak to Lord Berkshire at this moment.
Edward watched as Miss Blackmore pulled the needle and thread out from the small piece of white fabric she was holding in her hands. He couldn’t help but watch her since there was nothing else to do in this blasted coach. They had traveled all night, stopping only briefly at a coaching inn to swap out the horses and acquire some food for their journey.
Now it was nearing mid-day, and Miss Blackmore had barely said more than a few words to him. Apparently, she was still angry from their previous conversation. He didn’t quite understand why she was still cross with him. He had only spoken the truth.
“Didn’t anyone tell you that it is considered rude to stare?” Miss Blackmore asked, not bothering to look up from her needlework.
His brow lifted. “Are you actually speaking to me?”
Miss Blackmore lowered the fabric to her lap and met his gaze. “I suppose I am not keen on speaking to someone who finds me so irksome.”
“I said, ‘at times, I find you rather irksome’,” he commented. “I didn’t say I find you irksome all the time.”
“Thank you for clarifying that,” she remarked dryly.
“You are welcome.”
Miss Blackmore gave him a look of exasperation. “What is it that you want from me?”
“Nothing, but the pleasure of your company.”
She let out a slight huff. “I see, you are bored.”
“I am,” he replied, seeing no reason to deny it.
Holding up the needlework, she asked, “Would you care to learn how to embroider?”
“No, I would not.”
“That is a shame,” she replied. “It is a worthwhile skill to know.”
Edward glanced out the window at the green countryside they were passing. “It is beautiful out here in the country.”
“It is.”
He pointed at the needlework in her lap. “Why do you carry thread and a needle in your reticule?”
“One never knows when they will need something with which to amuse themselves,” she commented.
“What else do you carry in your reticule?” he found himself asking.
A mischievous twinkle came to her eye as she replied, “I’m afraid I cannot reveal all my secrets, my lord.”
His eyes ran over the reticule around her right wrist. “I assume you would carry a few coins for expenses.”
“You would be correct.”
Edward ran his hand over his chin thoughtfully. “Do you have a change of clothes in there?”
She laughed as he hoped she would. “I do not.”
“Pray tell, what else is in your reticule?”
“Do you truly wish to know?”
He nodded. “I do.”
She placed the fabric onto the bench next to her before she removed the reticule from her wrist. She opened it and pulled out a folded piece of paper.
“What is it?” he asked, leaning forward.
“My most prized possession,” she said as she slowly unfolded the paper. “It was the last letter that I received from my mother.”
He could hear the sadness in her voice. “What does it say?”
She glanced up, her eyes moist with unshed tears. “Nothing of importance,” she said, “but it was written by my mother’s hand and that makes it quite valuable to me.”
“I can understand that.”
“Can you?”
He nodded. “I still keep the ledgers that my father used from when he ran the estate,” he shared. “Sometimes I run my fingers over the writing, and I imagine my father sitting at his desk as he worked on them.”
A tear rolled down Miss Blackmore’s cheek, and she reached up to swipe it away. “I just wish I had a chance to say a proper goodbye to my parents. The last things we spoke of were mundane topics, and I didn’t even see them off that evening.”
He grew silent before sharing, “I didn’t get a chance to say goodbye to my father either.”
“Why was that?”
“He died suddenly of a heart attack,” he confessed. “The butler found him slumped over his desk.”
Miss Blackmore’s hand shot up to her lips. “How terrible.”
“Whereas my mother died slowly, and she was in excruciating pain towards the end,” he said, blinking rapidly to keep the tears from forming in his eyes. “It was almost a relief when she passed. But my father…” His words trailed off.
Miss Blackmore placed the piece of paper back into the reticule as she prodded, “What about your father?”
Edward was working hard to maintain his usual cool, detached demeanor, but it was becoming increasingly more difficult to reign in his emotions. “My father was