Page 158 of A Modest Independence

The next thing he knew, he was moving toward her, crossing the distance between them in long, purposeful strides.

She hopped down from the cliff path, brushing off her black jacket bodice and giving her skirts a shake. She looked poised and elegant, her skin golden from the sun. “Good morning.”

Tom came to a stop in front of her. The beat of his heart was an agony. He couldn’t think for how hard it was pounding. “Good morning.”

A smile tugged at the corners of her mouth as she gazed up at him. “You look very well.”

He stared down at her. Her thick hair had half-fallen from its pins. Curling tendrils framed her face in a wild auburn tangle.

She was more beautiful than in his memory. More beautiful even than that blasted pencil sketch of her he’d spent so many hours gazing at. Indeed, as she stood before him, she didn’t seem quite real. He half expected to feel Neville nudge at his shoulder and tell him to wake up.

But this wasn’t a dream.

A dream couldn’t have done Jenny justice. Couldn’t have created a vision so warm and vibrant and breathtakingly real.

“What are you doing here?” he asked.

“I’ve come home,” she said simply.

His breath stopped. “Have you?”

“For a while. I only arrived in London yesterday. I’d intended to visit you at your office, but Mrs. Jarrow said you were here. She said you had personal business to attend to.”

“Ah.” Tom belatedly ran a hand over his rumpled hair. He wished he were better prepared to see her. That he’d had time to shave and put on a fresh suit. Not that Jenny seemed to notice. She was looking up at his face, her eyes fixed on his. “I’ve been searching for Alex Archer,” he said. “I told Thornhill and Cross the truth about him. They’ve asked me to try and find him.”

Her mouth curved. “That’s wonderful. Have you had any luck?”

“I thought I might have, but it was another dead end. I’d planned to return to London tomorrow.”

“Then I’m glad I came today. I wouldn’t like to have missed you again.”

The wind gusted down the beach, rippling through the sand and stirring the hem of her dark green skirts. Paul and Jonesy trotted off to resume their battle over the stick.

“Where are Helena and Mr. Thornhill?” she asked. “I went up to the Abbey, but Mr. Cross said they’d gone.”

“They drove into Abbott’s Holcombe with Giles.”

Her brows lifted. “Giles is still here?”

“For the moment. He leaves for London at the end of the month. He’d have already gone, but Lady Helena didn’t think he was ready to face the full force of society yet, let alone resume his seat in the Lords.”

“Is he going to resume his seat?”

“I doubt it. He’s still keen on returning to India. He’ll likely sail back after the monsoons, sometime in November, I expect.”

“I thought he might.”

“What about you?” Tom asked. “Have you brought Ahmad and Mira along?”

“I left them in Half Moon Street. They needn’t escort me everywhere now I’m in England. Not at my age.”

The reference to her aged condition almost made Tom smile. But he didn’t feel very much like smiling. His heart was slowly forming into a lead weight in his chest. He hadn’t seen her since May. Hadn’t kissed her or held her in his arms in months. And here they were, together at last, and talking as politely and civilly as if they were two well-bred strangers.

He’d threatened her with just such a fate on the train to Cairo.

If we ever meet again someday in London or Devon, it shall be as common and indifferent acquaintances.

A petulant thing to have said. Ridiculous, too, because in reality it was impossible to be indifferent to her. Worse than impossible. Indeed, he didn’t think he could bear it, being near her and having to pretend that she didn’t matter to him.