he and her basket were ahead of her, out of the door and walking towards the large and entirely unnecessary carriage. She had no choice but to trail after.
As she passed, his groom jumped to attention, rushing to take the basket, get the stair down and hold the door as he helped her up. Across from her, Joseph Stratford leaned back into the seats as though he was ascending to a throne.
Then he smiled at her, satisfied. ‘There. As you can see, you are perfectly safe, and still in clear view of those in the street. I am all the way over here—properly out of reach of you. There will be no such incident as there was the last time we were alone together.’
‘I had no doubt of that, Mr Stratford. I would die first.’
He laughed at her for her primness. ‘You are a most ungrateful chit, Miss Lampett. One kiss did you no permanent harm. And, if you will remember the altercation outside the mill two days past, you must admit I have shown concern for your welfare. If I was as awful as you pretend, I would have let the mob trample you.’
‘You would not have.’ He’d moved with such speed to get to her side that she was sure it had been all but involuntary.
He looked surprised. ‘You give me credit for that much compassion, at least. Thank you for it.’
The silence that came after served to remind her just how unequal things had become, and just how unfair she was being to him—even if she did not particularly like the man. ‘I deserve no thanks, Mr Stratford. I owe them to you. At least for that day. I am perfectly aware that if you did not save my life, you at least spared me serious injury.’
‘You’re welcome.’ He seemed almost embarrassed that she had noticed the debt she owed.
‘But now you are giving me a ride, when I told you I did not wish one. After yesterday …’
‘Can you not accept this in the spirit with which it was given?’ he asked with a smile. ‘It is foul outside, but it appeared that you wished to forgo even the help of a delivery boy and struggle home by yourself. There was no reason for it.’
He looked at her sideways for a moment, and then out of the window, as though his next comment was of no consequence.
‘Perhaps I remember what it was like to count pennies as though they were pounds, and do without the smallest luxuries.’
He had guessed her reason for walking? ‘Then I also apologise for the comment I made in our last conversation, accusing you of being unsympathetic to those in need.’
He was frowning now, and hardly seemed to speak to her. ‘You were right in part, at least. I had meant, when that time passed, to remember it better. I pledged to myself that I would be of aid to those who were impoverished, as I had been while growing up. It seems I have forgotten.’
‘Do not think to make my family an object of pity to salve your stinging conscience,’ she snapped. ‘If you wish to offer charity, there are others that need more of it.’ Then she looked out of the window as well. She felt bad to have spoken thus, for it was very ungrateful of her. He seemed able to put her in the worst temper with the slightest comment. But then, he could arouse other emotions as well.
Her cheeks coloured as she thought again of the kiss. When she’d accepted this ride, had there been some small part of her that had hoped he would attempt to do it again? Was that what made her angry now? She was a fool if she thought that his offer had been anything other than common courtesy. She meant nothing to him. Nor did the kiss.
‘It is hardly charity to offer another person a ride on a cold and rainy day,’ he said gently. ‘I’ll wager you’d have accepted if the offer had come from Anne Clairemont or her mother.’
‘That would not have been likely,’ she said.
‘Why not? You were friends with the Clairemont girls as a child, were you not?’
She turned and looked at him sharply. ‘What gave you that idea?’
His gaze flicked away for a moment. ‘You mentioned it as we were driving towards the house yesterday.’
‘I said I’d had a friend there. But you said “girls” just now. I did not mention Mary.’
‘Perhaps Anne did,’ he said, still not looking at her. ‘Mary was her sister, then?’
The idea that Anne might have mentioned her seemed highly unlikely. Something about the calculated way he spoke made her suspect he fished for information and was piecing the truth together with each slip Barbara made. ‘Mary has been dead for quite some time,’ she said, praying that would be the end of the conversation.
‘What happened to her?’
‘There was nothing mysterious about her death. She took ill, faded and died. If you wish to know more you had best ask your fiancée, Miss Clairemont.’
‘I have not offered as of yet.’
‘But you will. The whole village knows that the festivities you have organised are meant to celebrate your engagement to her.’
‘Do they, now?’ His voice had dropped briefly, as though he was talking to himself. ‘I did not know that the world was sure of plans that I myself have not spoken.’
Were they not true? Anne seemed sure enough of them, as was her father. But Stratford’s response gave Barbara reason to fear for them. It would be most embarrassing should they have misunderstood this man’s intent so completely and allowed themselves to be used to further his business. ‘I am sorry. Perhaps I was mistaken.’
‘Perhaps you were.’ He was looking at her rather intently now, as though trying to divine her opinion on the subject.
She reminded herself that she had none. Perhaps she was a little relieved that he was not riding with her or kissing her while planning to marry Anne. She had no wish to hurt that family again by seeming too interested in Mr Stratford. Nor did she want to do anything that might encourage him to become interested in her if he was otherwise engaged.
But his eyes, when seen this close, were the stormy shade of grey that presaged a violent change in the weather. The slight stubble on his chin only emphasised the squareness of his jaw. Now that she had noticed it she found it hard to look away.
He broke the gaze. ‘Then again, perhaps you were not mistaken about my engagement. I have not yet made a decision regarding my future, or that of Miss Anne Clairemont.’
She looked down at her feet, embarrassed for having thought anything at all other than cursory gratitude that she was not walking in the rain. ‘Either way, it is rude of you to discuss it with me. And, I might add, it does not concern me whatever you do. You might marry whoever you like and it will not matter to me in the slightest.’
‘It is good to know that. Not that I planned to seek your approval.’ This was more playful than censorious, and delivered with a strangely seductive smile, as if to say it was in his power to make it matter, should he so choose. ‘But why do you say that the Clairemonts would not offer you a ride if you needed one? They seem like nice enough people, from what I know of them.’
Perhaps enough time had passed that they were better. Barbara was not sure of the mood in the Clairemont household. But she would rather cut her tongue out than
