Twilight at Moorington Cross by Abigail Wilson

Author:Abigail Wilson
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Thomas Nelson
Published: 2022-01-11T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter 17

The following morning I received a note from Mr. Hawkins, urging me to meet him in the garden instead of the house. I assumed the abrupt change of location the logical first step toward reining in our relationship back to the proper bounds of client and solicitor. The momentary looks, the warmth of his laugh, the feel of his touch—it had all gone on long enough!

However, I was never more shocked than when he arrived, flashed that sweet smile of his, and greeted me with, “You know, Mrs. Pembroke, I’m quite pleased we’ve had more time to acquaint ourselves with one another. It has . . . well, it’ll prove quite helpful in the investigation and on a whole has made my job as your solicitor decidedly easier.”

Made his job easier?

Coated with delicate white flowers, a blackthorn’s branches hung low over our heads, shading the lines of Mr. Hawkins’s ever-shifting countenance. A subtle breeze swirled the air and gave the garden a touch of life, leaving my body terribly cold.

What did he mean by such a statement? I tightened my bonnet ribbons and glanced away. After all, I dared not give a response as my mind raced once again around what he’d implied.

Had I been a fool to waste an entire night reading into every movement, every look since I first met him? Apparently he’d meant to be a good solicitor, nothing more. I smashed my eyes closed. Wasn’t that what I’d feared all along? The perfect solicitor. So how had I misconstrued his feigned compassion for something I never should have entertained?

Granted, I was a complete novice at love. I’d not experienced any affection from a gentleman before, certainly not of that sort. I took a deep breath. I knew now Mr. Hawkins’s care meant nothing more than friendship. His words were quite clear.

I thrust my humiliation down deep within and gave him a sideways glance. “What do you think our next steps should be?”

He looked up, almost appearing shaken for a moment—as if my question had unwittingly snagged an errant thought. But it passed soon enough, and he affected his charming solicitor’s smile as he leaned against a nearby tree. “You mean about the investigation?”

I picked a nearby white flower and twirled it in my fingers. “What else could I mean?”

“Oh . . .” He was in control as always, his voice that of a well-versed gentleman. “Nothing really. I suppose I thought you might be referring to your suitors. I . . .” He didn’t finish his sentence, his voice lost on tendrils of wind.

“I figured after what we decided last night, we should visit Henry at the cottage as soon as can be arranged.”

Mr. Hawkins nodded to himself, but his expression remained unreadable. “Agreed.” He smiled. “We’ve like minds and all that.” Then he checked his watch. “For that is just what I had planned for our meeting today—why I asked you to the garden in the first place. Miss Seton should be at the cottage already.

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