“May I throw one?” Jasper asked.
Miss Arden bent down and produced another stone, holding it out to Adam’s son. “A favor in exchange for your name, sir.”
He bowed very seriously. “My name is Jasper Anderson, ma’am.”
“Well, young Mr. Anderson, you will wish to hold this rock at about your ear, clamp your feet down on the ground, and throw it over-head. I have always found using two hands rewards one with the most satisfying splash. But be careful not to get too close to the edge.”
“Like this?” Jasper concentrated on perfecting his posture, letting Miss Arden adjust his arms just so.
He launched the rock and turned around to grin at Adam and Marianne, who was whispering breathy apologies in Adam’s ear for letting Adeline evade her. Adam patted his sister on the back. They had to do something about Addie. Lately she was always testing what she could get away with, and she put herself in danger.
“Did you see, Papa?” Jasper called.
Adam belatedly turned his attention to his boy. “Well done, lad,” he said.
“You have quite an arm,” Miss Arden added, in a tone that made Jasper plump with pride.
Adam stole a glance at her. He could scarcely believe that this kind, maternal person was the same woman who had invited him into her bed the night before.
And yet they were the same—the same wry humor, the same air of self-assurance, the same habit of looking out the corners of her eyes at him and smiling, as if a secondary understanding ran between them beneath what was being said.
“Addie, let’s go back to the house and tend to your hand,” Marianne said. “Thank Miss Arden for her kindness.”
“Nonsense,” Miss Arden said. “Come right upstairs. We’ll get her cleaned and bandaged so that she doesn’t bleed on her pretty dress.”
Adam hesitated, not relishing the idea of his children in Miss Arden’s house, with its uneven floorboards and infamous proprietress, but his sister stepped forward before he could think of a polite way to object. “Thank you, Miss Arden, that’s very kind.”
“You must be Miss Anderson,” Miss Arden said. “Of the excellent taste in books.”
Marianne grinned. “The very same. Thank you for your dedication. I shall cherish it.”
Miss Arden led them up the stairs to her house and through the door to the kitchen, where her maid was puttering with chipped plates. “Have we any lemonade, Maria?”
Maria nodded and set about preparing a pitcher and glasses as Miss Arden fetched a cloth and water for Marianne, who ministered to Addie’s hand.
He hung back by the door with Jasper, both of them watching the efficient movements of the ladies. Addie, meanwhile, was allowing her aunt to dress her wound while staring raptly at Miss Arden’s yellow gown.
He couldn’t blame her. He wanted to stare, too.
“That’s better,” Marianne said as she finished wrapping Addie’s hand.
“Thank Miss Arden for her help,” Adam instructed.
“Thank you, Miss Arden,” Addie lisped obediently.
“My pleasure. Miss Adeline, I implore you to tread carefully when you walk outside. Our Cornish footpaths can be treacherous.”
“The views are beautiful though,” Marianne said. “You grew up here?”
“Yes. It was a lovely place to be a child. I spent my summers wading in the rock pools. Swimming in the sea. But my favorite thing was Golowan.”
“Galljalong?” Addie giggled, delighted to hear an adult say such a silly-sounding word.
Miss Arden smiled. “Golowan. It’s the Cornish celebration of midsummer. The whole town prepares for it every June, and on the Eve of St. John, there is a procession with torches and bonfires and dancing and delicious foods and festive dress.”
“Festive dress!” Addie breathed, big-eyed with delight. She loved pretty clothes.
“Might we go?” Jasper asked, turning to Adam.
“Oh yes, I want to go, too!” Addie said immediately. “May we, Papa? May we?”
He grimaced, thinking of his small children in a throng of rural villagers with torches. “We’ll see.”
“If you go, you’ll need costumes, of course,” Miss Arden told them. “A Celtic kilt would suit you, Jasper, and Adeline would look lovely as a druid sprite.”
“But we don’t have costumes,” Jasper said, looking worriedly at Adam. “All our things are in London.”
“I imagine all my old costumes are upstairs in the attic,” Miss Arden said. “I’m sure we could fashion something for you.”
She paused and looked at Adam, as if belatedly remembering he was in the room. “That is, if your papa agrees.” She shot him a look as if to say sorry.
“Papa will say it’s too dangerous,” Jasper groaned. “He says everything is too dangerous.”
Adam gave his son a look. “Not everything. But bonfires and torches, perhaps.”
“It is the job of fathers to keep their children safe,” Miss Arden said to Jasper. She looked over his head at Adam and smiled. “And you, I’m afraid, seem to be blessed with a good one.”
Her praise made him unsuitably happy, though he was not entirely sure she was correct about the merits of his parenting, given that in this moment he was considering consenting to let his children borrow costumes from this woman for a paganish procession just so he might find himself in her midst again.
“Well, Miss Arden,” he said, “it is time we return your kitchen to peace.”
He felt her eyes on him as he said the words. She made him intensely aware of his own presence. He could feel his shirt brushing the skin of his back. His fingertips, grazing the table a few feet from Miss Arden’s own.
“Indeed,” Marianne agreed. “’Tis past time these young people returned home for their lessons.”
Adeline popped out her lower lip in distress. “Lessons! We did lessons yesterday.”
Miss Arden knelt to address the girl seriously. “One must do lessons every day if one wants to learn, Miss Anderson. This is very important for young ladies. The more lessons, the better off you will be when you’re grown. Insist on extra lessons, I say.”
Adam smiled, enjoying the way Miss Arden adjusted her philosophical positions to suit the understanding of a child. She was good with children. It was perhaps unfair of him, but he had not imagined a woman of her reputation might take genuine interest in bairns. He was touched.
“Hear that, Addie?” he said. “Miss Arden is a wise woman. You’d be best to listen to her. Now say farewell.”
The children said their farewells and his sister shuttled them out the door. He turned to follow but Miss Arden tapped him lightly on the shoulder. She may as well have hit him with a hammer, for he felt her touch reverberate straight down to his hips.
Every time she touched him, the same bloody effect, like he was a schoolboy.
He wondered if she knew—if she could see it.
“Mr. Anderson, I’m sorry,” she said in a low voice. “I should not have mentioned the festival without consulting you. I didn’t think before I spoke.”
She looked sincerely regretful. He was again surprised by this. Her kindness.
He decided to be honest. “You meant no harm. It’s only that I try to make sure they don’t go anywhere I’m not familiar with, or where Scots might be unwelcome. After their mother’s death . . . it’s my superstition but I like to do what I can to keep them safe.”