Page 28

James left for Holland Landing the day after he stood by her side at Granny’s funeral.

The weather had turned colder, freezing the mud into unyielding ruts in the road and sending down the first lazy flakes of snow.

Sara handed him an extra muffler and a flask of tea and blinked away tears.

Granny’s loss hung about her like a heavy fog, but the sharp ache that flooded her heart as James rode away was something different. New.

After that hour together in the kitchen, she’d forced herself to acknowledge the truth.

She was in the grip of an inconvenient and pointless attraction.

James Kinney was a thoughtful, intelligent man and a loving father.

No wonder she was drawn to him. But by his own admission, he had no intention of marrying again.

Amelia Ridley was still enshrined in his heart.

She pushed aside the pang this thought gave her. She ought to welcome this time away from his distracting presence to get her unruly emotions in order.

Sara threw herself into lessons, retreating with Evie to the warmth of the kitchen. Mrs. Hobbes listened to her favorite’s progress with an indulgent eye, telling them stories of Evie’s toddler years while they ate around the scarred wooden table.

On the second day, Henry joined them in the afternoon for the next chapter of Ivanhoe . Mrs. Hobbes took one look at his skinny frame and warmed up a plate of ham and mash that she claimed would go to waste otherwise with the master away.

That evening Sara built up the fire in the parlor and they set to work on a new duet. Though she’d filled every minute of the day, James was never far from her thoughts. She worried that he was caught up in dangerous currents. She wished he was home.

“Sara, aren’t you going to correct me?” Evie stopped playing and looked at Sara.

“Sorry. I was woolgathering. Try those last five measures again.”

Evie placed her fingers on the keyboard. “You don’t have to worry about Papa.”

“Pardon me?” Sara said, startled.

“He went to help Uncle Andrew. It’s his duty, he told me so.”

“His duty?” The temptation to probe was irresistible.

“To work within the law, to find peaceful solutions to problems. He says most of the trouble in the world would stop if people would sit down and talk. Make some rules and follow them. Papa’s good at making rules.”

He wasn’t too shabby at breaking them, either. After all, he’d hired a washerwoman as his child’s governess. “Come, let’s practice this piece once more, and then we’ll try the duet.”

Evie wasn’t a natural musician, no more than Sara was, but with regular practice, she would become proficient. They managed to get through two pages before they both dissolved into giggles.

“That was horrible,” Evie sputtered.

“That was lovely,” said a deep voice from the front hall.

Sara spun about on the piano bench while Evie squealed and bolted to her father. James swooped her into his arms. Sara’s eyes took an inventory of his person, but besides ruddy cheeks and mud-spattered trousers, he seemed no worse for his travels.

His eyes met Sara’s over Evie’s shoulder, his wide smile surprising her.

Of course, he was happy to see his daughter.

But that didn’t explain why his eyes sought hers, or why she smiled back like a fool at the sight of him.

By the time he’d set Evie down on her feet again, Sara had schooled her features back to what she hoped was mere polite welcome.

“Why are you home so early, Papa?” Evie pulled him into the room. He’d only been away one night instead of three.

“I missed you, poppet, so I turned right around and came home as soon as I could.”

There was more to the story, judging by the dark circles under his eyes.

Sara rose, wiping her hands down the front of her skirt.

It was time she left, before she asked questions that a governess had no business asking.

“We’re done with lessons for today. If you’ll excuse me.

” She tried to walk past them, but his arm shot out, grasping hers.

“Wait. Will you play that again? With Evie?”

“Oh, well, it’s not ready. We’ve got to practice—”

“Please. I haven’t heard that piece in so long. And to see my little girl playing...” He cleared his throat. “It would have made her mama happy.”

Evie froze. “My mother?” she questioned. “Did she play the pianoforte?”

James nodded, avoiding Sara’s eyes. “She loved to play.”

Sara wondered if he’d say more, and for Evie’s sake, she hoped he would. But he sealed his lips and settled into a chair in the corner, leaning his head back.

Evie tugged Sara to the piano, and they struggled through the new piece again, before settling on an easier duet.

James clapped and although he professed interest, his expression grew more somber with each new song.

He rose and paced to the window, his posture tight with tension.

Sara glanced at him when the music permitted, but his face gave away no clues to his thoughts.

“I’ll be back shortly,” he announced as soon as the next song finished. His voice was grim, as though he set about some unpleasant task. Evie half rose as if to follow but he gestured her back to the piano bench. “Play that last one again.”

He returned five minutes later carrying a large paper-wrapped rectangle that Sara recognized. Her stomach tightened.

“A present!” Evie jumped up from the piano bench to crowd close to him.

Sara searched his face, but his expression was solemn, betraying no sign of what prompted this change of heart. He released the string and pulled at the folded edges to reveal the portrait.

“Who’s that?” Evie’s voice was soft, as though she hesitated to ask.

James smoothed his hand over his daughter’s head. From her position at the piano, Sara could see the slight tremble in his fingers.

“It’s your mother.”

Evie studied the portrait of Amelia as a young lady, her dark hair parted in the center to cascade in ringlets around her face.

Her gown was pink, a light, airy creation with a ruffled skirt and exaggerated leg-of-mutton sleeves that had been all the rage a decade earlier.

She reached out a finger to trace one of Amelia’s hands as it rested gracefully on the back of a chair.

“She was beautiful.”

James tilted up her chin and looked into her eyes. “You look like her.”

Evie’s eyes widened. “I do?” She jerked out of his grasp to examine the portrait again.

It was true. Amelia Ridley lingered in the slant of Evie’s eyebrows and the curve of her lips. Sara blinked back tears, knowing how much this connection would mean to Evie.

“We could hang it in your room,” James said. “If you’d like that.”

In response, Evie hugged him tight. James met Sara’s eyes over her head. Thank you, he mouthed.

Sara smiled. Words floated about her mind and stuck on the tip of her tongue, words of approval that seemed presumptuous in a governess.

“Why don’t you run ahead and pick a place for us to hang it,” James said. “I’ll get the hammer and a nail.”

Evie dashed off. Sara busied herself tidying the piano books, surprised when James didn’t immediately follow Evie out of the room.

He cleared his throat. “I had time to think about what you said. I’ve blocked my grief. Trying to protect Evie, I suppose. But you’re right. Evie should know her mother. It’s painful but there are good memories, too. I need to share those with Evie.”

Sara ducked her head. Of all the surprises the evening brought, James Kinney admitting she’d been right was the greatest. The knowledge brought no satisfaction, however. What a fraud she was, encouraging James to confront his memories when she had no intention of doing the same.

There was a smile on James’s face as he finished the last of his correspondence. It was almost time to go home.

Evenings had become his favorite time of day.

Evie and Sara joined him in the parlor, and he could watch the play of emotions over Sara’s face while she helped Evie with her embroidery or at the pianoforte.

He chuckled at the quiet, clever asides she interjected into Evie’s dramatic retelling of the day’s events. He liked having her nearby.

He liked it far too much.

It was taking his mind away from the tension growing around him, the letters he ought to answer, the debates that should take his attention.

He’d resented every mile he’d traveled away from them, every minute he’d wasted questioning men who had no intention of admitting a thing. Someone had tipped them off. The meeting in Holland Landing turned out to be a few old men reminiscing about the last war with nary a rebel in sight.

Still, he’d seen enough to make him worry.

The smithy at Holland Landing was making pikestaffs instead of horseshoes.

In the distance, he’d spotted men in the fields moving in a formation that resembled military drills.

A turkey hunt, he’d been told, though he’d never seen men stand in columns to hunt before.

He was forced to admit it might be too late for peacemaking. The reformers had turned into rebels, and they were serious. The Tories needed to come to the table.

A clerk ducked his head into his office, his face flushed. “Mr. Ballantine is here to see you, sir.”

James’s heart sank. If Ballantine expected to hear a tidy report of Andrew’s rescue from the hands of wild rabble-rousers, he was bound for disappointment.

“Hello, sir,” James said, rising as Ballantine entered and reaching forward to shake his hand. “Pleasure to see you again.”

Ballantine grunted, lowering slowly into the chair across from James. He mopped his face with a handkerchief and paused a moment to catch his breath. “Blasted stairs. Next time I’ll have you come to me.”

James ran a finger under his collar and leaned back in his chair, waiting for the hammer to fall.

Ballantine wouldn’t be impressed with James’s lack of progress.

James mentally scanned the evidence, organizing his arguments as fast as he could.

This might be the time to impress upon the older man just how serious the situation was.

“Dash it, Kinney. An awkward business, this.”

Ballantine was worried that things would get awkward ?

James resisted the temptation to pull his hair out.

Why would he persist in ignoring the evidence in front of their eyes?

“It will be a sight more than awkward if something isn’t done ,” James said.

“These men are in earnest, sir. Why, I read one of the tracts they’re circulating, and it spells violence. If you’d only—”

“I don’t mean that foolish rebel talk.” He swiped his hand through the air, brushing aside James’s concerns. “It’s the other situation I’m here about, though I’d rather not be. Not an affair for men.” He spread his hands with a helpless shrug.

“Situation?” James prompted, mystified.

“Heard it from a few sources now.” Ballantine mopped his head once more, then took a breath as if to steal himself for an unpleasant task. “Doesn’t look right, a governess, living in your pocket like that. You were seen at church together. Causing talk.”

Shock and chagrin held James silent for a moment followed by a flash of anger. Finally, some happiness came into Evie’s life. Stability. Acceptance. His mouth firmed. Rumors were not going to tear all that away.

“I can’t imagine talk could come of hiring a governess,” he replied, his voice cool. “Seems a fairly common practice.”

Ballantine brought his hand down on the desk. “Don’t play the fool! Heard she’s a pretty one, and I don’t blame you. Gets lonely.”

Outrage, hot and tingling, coursed through him.

It wasn’t like Ballantine to talk about a woman as though she were just a pretty face.

He sensed the influence of Stephen Osgoode.

Again. “Sir, I assure you, I have the utmost respect for Miss O’Connor.

If Osgoode has told you otherwise, he’s wrong. I would never—”

“Need a wife, that’s the ticket.” Ballantine leaned back in his chair as though he’d solved the problem.

James gritted his teeth. Just when he thought the conversation couldn’t get any more mortifying.

“I’ve decided to host a dinner tonight.” The statement took James aback.

Ballantine never entertained. “I’ve invited some ladies,” he continued.

“Bound to be one that’ll do. We’ll see you at seven.

” Ballantine gave him a stare that was meant to remind him of his place. Instead, it sent him over the edge.

“Please accept my apologies,” James said, rising. “I believe I have an engagement tonight.”

“Skip it.”

“Not possible.”

“Some of the finest families in Toronto will be there.” Ballantine sent a meaningful gaze around the tiny office, taking in the sparce furnishings and Andrew’s empty desk. “It wouldn’t hurt to make some connections. Never know when you might need them.”

James tried to stare Ballantine down, but the man’s words hit close, and he dropped his eyes.

Was this the opportunity he’d been waiting for?

He could talk to the most important men in Toronto.

There might be one receptive to his warnings about Mackenzie’s men.

“All right,” he said slowly. “I’ll be there. ”

Ballantine gave a satisfied nod. “I thought you’d come around. We’ll see you tonight.”