Total pages in book: 119
Estimated words: 112133 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 561(@200wpm)___ 449(@250wpm)___ 374(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 112133 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 561(@200wpm)___ 449(@250wpm)___ 374(@300wpm)
Meredith’s stomach danced with every swaying motion of the coach, and excitement fizzed through her veins. She stretched her fingers inside her traveling gloves, and the seams chafed her work-roughened hands.
Here we go, she told herself, as the village’s last thatched roof rolled past. This is really happening. She was truly departing Buckleigh-in-the-Moor, and not for a half-day’s bartering in Tavistock, but for an indulgent stay in Bath. Best of all, she was going there with Rhys. She resolved to leave all her worries in the village, where they belonged, and simply enjoy these precious days. A giddy smile stretched her face, and she unglued her gaze from the small window in order to share it with him.
He was asleep. Arms folded, chin tucked to his chest. Boots propped possessively on her seat, but thoughtfully well clear of her skirts. The coach swung into a turn, and a low, soft snore rumbled from his chest.
She pressed her wrist to her mouth to keep from laughing.
Well, he was a soldier. She supposed he could nap anywhere. And since she knew his sleep to be all-too-often disturbed by unpleasant dreams, she didn’t want to rob him of his well-earned rest. Not presently, anyhow. If she had anything to say about it, he’d be getting little sleep in Bath.
But for her part, Meredith could scarcely bring herself to blink. As dawn warmed the countryside, she kept her face pressed to the window glass, the better to greedily consume every detail. She’d never passed by this route before, and she might pass a lifetime without traveling it again.
After some time, the carriage lurched to a halt. Rhys woke with a start. His boots hit the carriage floor with a jarring thud.
“All’s well,” she assured him quickly. “I believe we’re stopping to change horses.”
He glanced out the window. “We’re nearing Exeter. That’s good. Shall we climb out and stretch?”
They walked a bit, away from the inn, strolling through the fringe of a wooded glen that bordered the lane. It amazed her, what a short distance they’d traveled and yet how many plants grew here that she did not know by name.
“We never talk about you,” she said, taking his arm. And their opportunities to do so might be dwindling by the day.
“There’s not much to discuss.”
“But of course there is. You’ve traveled all over. What’s the most beautiful place you’ve ever been?”
“Anywhere you are.”
She blushed like a girl, despite herself. “This from the man who claims no talent for romance. No, be serious. I truly want to know. French mountain ranges? A Belgian cathedral? The open sea?”
“Tulips.” He lifted his chin and stared hard into the thickening trees. The pause grew so lengthy, Meredith wondered whether he meant to say anything else. Perhaps he just had a particular fondness for tulips.
“A whole field of them,” he finally said. “In Holland. Red tulips, in endless waves. And a clear blue sky overhead.”
“Sounds lovely.”
“It was.” A dull note landed on the word was. Looking over his shoulder, he said, “I believe they have the new team harnessed.”
And that was the end of that.
As the coach got under way a second time, he stacked his arms on his chest and propped his boots beside her, as though he would sleep again. But this time, she did not hesitate to interrupt.
“Tulips,” she said. “So they’re the most beautiful sight. What about the ugliest?”
He shook his head. “Even if I could decide between the many contenders for that distinction … I’d never answer you that.”
“Never? Why not?”
“Because you should never witness the hell of war. You shouldn’t even hear about it secondhand. That’s the whole reason we were fighting, to spare innocent people like you such ugliness. I’ll be damned if I’ll personally acquaint you with it now.” He turned his head to the window. End of discussion.
She sighed, wishing he wouldn’t close himself off to her. If he only knew how much of his pain she’d already witnessed.
“Thank you,” she said.
“For what?”
“For your service. For fighting. I’d imagine you don’t hear that enough.” At least, he likely hadn’t heard it from anyone in the village, including her. “Your regiment was England’s most decorated, I understand.”
“Who told you that?”
“I read it in the newspaper once.” Or twice. Or several dozen times.
“I had the honor to serve with many good, valiant men.”
“And you were one of those good, valiant men. You led them.”
He shrugged. “I’m here. Far too many of them aren’t.”
She didn’t dare admit it, but she knew every last ribbon and medal and citation he’d been awarded. They numbered almost as many as his scars. The thought that he’d incurred them all with the vague idea he’d be sparing her and others a bit of ugliness …
“I admire you,” she said.
The poor man. He looked utterly panicked. As if she’d lobbed him a snarling weasel, rather than an honest compliment. Actually, he probably would have dealt with the weasel more handily.