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Now I have to know. “I won’t, I promise!”
“I’m supposed to believe you can keep that promise after seeing you in stitches this afternoon?”
I tilt my chin up defiantly, feigning insult. “I can’t believe you would suggest such a thing,” I say in my primmest voice. “I never break my promises.”
He nods, matching my mock seriousness. “Well then, in that case.” He clears his throat. “I don’t know what made me think of this, but I was just remembering that the first time I came over to your house, I brought a little slice of ham with me.”
“What? Why?”
“For Snip,” he explains. “Damn if this isn’t the most embarrassing thing I’ve ever admitted to. I brought it as a sort of bribe, so that he might like me, and in turn, his masters.”
“Oh,” I say, too surprised to laugh. “Well, it worked.”
He doesn’t ask if I mean on Snip or on his masters. “There,” he says instead. “You’ve managed a confession out of me. Fair is fair, your turn.”
“You want me to confess to something?”
“More than anything in the world.”
His confession is endearing, a glimpse into the shy part of him I long to know more about. But what could I possibly say that wouldn’t make me look silly or childish in his eyes? Should I tell him that I’ve never worn the glove that he brought back to me so that I wouldn’t have to unfold what he had touched? That I still have his cravat from that first day we met, folded and kept under my pillow like a talisman? Or maybe that every night I look out my window toward his house behind the trees and try to imagine what he’s doing at that moment?
But I don’t want the game to end, not yet. I rack my mind, and then before I can talk myself out of it, I blurt out, “I don’t know the first thing about birds.”
He’s quiet for a beat, and then gives me a long, sly look. “I know.”
“You do?”
“That day when we were walking through the woods. You said you saw a golden thrush.” He flashes a mischievous grin. “Golden thrushes are only found in Australia.”
I should be mortified, but I can’t help smiling. All those hours spent studying my natural history books and I’ve been found out anyway. “Why didn’t you say anything then?”
“You looked so pleased with yourself. I hadn’t the heart to correct you.”
On the way to Mr. Barrett’s the walk had seemed to take so long, but now it’s going by quickly, far too quickly. We’re almost at the bend that will take me back to Willow Hall and him to the mill. I would do anything to make the road stretch out for miles yet before we had to part.
Maybe it’s the laughter we shared, or that he finally opened up to me. Or maybe it’s the cool autumn breeze that winds through the small space between us, making him move a little closer so that I’m not too cold, but I finally have found some courage. “Can...can I ask you something?”
He looks down, a little surprised. “Of course, anything.”
“Are you... That is, I heard you were engaged.” My words hang in the air, and even I can hear the desperate tinge in them.
Mr. Barrett stops abruptly, the horse shaking the bridle in protest.
“Engaged? Well,” he says with a frown, “that would certainly be news to me.” His look softens. “Where did you hear that?”
“Mrs. Tidewell.” I feel like a tattling child, though my shame is tempered with a deep sense of relief.
“Ah,” he says, picking up the pace again. “I’m not sure I would put so much stock in what Mrs. Tidewell says when it comes to other people’s business.”
We walk a little farther in silence. There’s a tension in Mr. Barrett’s face like he wants to say something else but is battling himself. Finally he asks, “What else did Mrs. Tidewell tell you?”
“Nothing,” I say a little too quickly. “Nothing at all. Just that.”
We’ve reached the fork in the road. The horse swipes its tail at an invisible irritant and paws at the dirt, wondering why we’ve stopped. The air hangs heavy with expectancy, and I’m not ready to say goodbye yet. Still embarrassed and unable to meet Mr. Barrett’s eyes, I stroke the horse’s warm, downy nose, and direct my goodbyes to it instead.
“Such a sweet horse,” I murmur. Our horses are carriage horses, not much interested in human company unless you have something sweet for them, and even then they merely offer a sideways glance while they munch away. Mr. Barrett’s horse is as gentle and sweet as a puppy.
“Lydia,” he says after a moment. “Before you go, there’s something I’d like to ask you.”