Free Victorian Dream by Gini Rifkin Page B

mouth without due consideration. At the time, it seemed a lark, an innocent game, now she was embarrassed by her reckless action.
    She gave a burst of laughter. Spotting him following behind them had been surprisingly easy. He may be an accomplished seaman, and was probably good at blending into his surroundings in the mountains, or on some prairie out west, but in London, he was like a towering oak in a field of dwarf pine. He was taller than nearly every man in the city, and that black American topper only served to increase his height. Such masculine gear—it lent him a dangerous no-nonsense air. And the confident manner in which he walked proclaimed he was a straightforward person, expecting the same from everyone he encountered.
    What kind of life had he led, and what were his plans for the future? Snuggling the journal in her arms, she again rued not having invited Walker to the Michaelmas festivities. Walker , she supposed it was safe to use his Christian name in the confines of her mind. Like the man, it was a singularly unique name. But to say it out loud would make him too much a reality. A permanent part of her life. She mustn’t grow accustomed to having him around, to gazing upon his face, to wishing he would hold her in his arms or against his broad chest as they danced the night away.
    “Trelayne, dear. Is everything all right? You look halfway to the moon.” Aunt Abigail crossed the room, carrying a tea service for two. Wynona followed, laden with a tray of cheese, fruit, and sliced ham,
    “I thought tonight we would eat cozy by the fire,” her aunt suggested. “No sense bothering the others with anything formal. Besides, the tables are already set for tomorrow.”
    Tired to the bone, Trelayne nodded and fought a big unladylike yawn. “It sounds perfect, Auntie. Thank you, Wynona, and thank the entire staff for their efforts. I know they worked hard all day and into the evening. I won’t forget what a splendid job they’ve done.”
    “You did your share, missy,” Wynona reassured, chucking her lovingly under the chin as if she were a child. “Your parents would be proud.”
    Tears bit at her eyes as she set the journal aside. “I hope so, Wynona. It’s very important to me that they are.”
    “Don’t you doubt it for a moment, Miss Trelayne.” The older woman turned to leave, fatigue evident in her step. She was barely out of sight when a knock sounded at the door.
    “I’ll see to it,” Trelayne called, before Wynona could respond. “You’d best go feed Merrick. Tell him the rest of the preparations can wait until morning.”
    “Bless you, child. Although he never would complain nor admit to it, he must be near starved and ready to drop.”
    The knock sounded again. Who could possibly be calling at this hour? Not Lucien, she prayed. She was tired, and too preoccupied to respond to his witty banter and fawning attention.
    With a burst of strength fueled by irritation, she hauled open the heavy door, and came face to face with Captain Garrison. At the unexpected sight of him her heart lurched, then sped forward double-time. The chill night air rushed in around him, but a flush of heat swept over her from tousled hair to booted toe. He stood staring at her as if he’d never seen her before. Probably in regards to her disheveled appearance. She stared back, eventually finding the presence of mind to close her mouth.
    Shadows of the night accentuated the planes of his face, turning his eyes more gray than blue. There was a lonesome quality about him tonight, one she hadn’t notice before. Or did her own loneliness simply seek familiar company?
    “Pardon my intrusion,” he murmured, his gaze locked onto her face. “I realize the hour is unseemly late, but there is a matter that needs your immediate attention.”
    She clutched one hand to her chest. “Is it Mother and Father? Have they taken a turn?”
    Captain Garrison reached to steady her. “No, nothing like that. Dr. Robinson’s