Page 66 of To Know Miss May
The last thing August wished to do was steer the conversation back to her father, but she seemed determined to do just that.
“’E be embarrassed o’ me, ye know,” she said.
August frowned. He did know. But he’d never admit that to Livvy.
“It be true,” she said, looking up at him. Clearly, he’d mistaken his silence again as disbelief. “Tell me, ’as ’e e’er mentioned me at work?”
August shifted uncomfortably on the pathway, his cravat suddenly feeling very tight. “A time or two.”
“And did ’e speak in secrecy, with no other pryin’ ears?”
His breathing stinted. “I…I s’pose.”
“Ye see?” she said, clearly unaware of the discomfort she was placing on August’s heart. “Does that not strike ye as odd, that a man won’t speak of ’is daugh’er unless doin’ so in secrecy?”
Again, August couldn’t say a word. Yes, it did strike him as odd. Everything about Mr. May struck him as odd and terrible and vindictive all rolled into one. Even still, while Livvy hardly seemed happy with her father, August didn’t think she’d take kindly to August throwing him out to the dogs, either.
Was this the real reason Mr. May was asking August to help change his daughter—not because of his love for Livvy but because he was embarrassed by Livvy?
The bile in his stomach curdled.
“It be all right,” she continued when he didn’t respond. “I be used to ’is strange way o’ showin’ that ’e loves me. I only wish that I’d be allowed to be the person I wish to be without others—Father included—thinkin’ I be strange. I be exhausted with tryin’ to fit in, e’en though I ne’er will. I be a horse who wants to swim with dolphins ’round the Mount but am destined to remain confined to a one-stall stable, only let out to pull a desperately ’eavy wagon ’round for the rest o’ me life.”
Despite the heavy topic in which they’d been engaged, August’s spirits raised a fraction, if only due to the imagery she created with her words. She really did have a way with them.
“Can I ask ye a question, August?”
His name in her soft voice sounded as sweet as the cherry tarts had tasted that morning. “’Course.”
“What more do I ’ave to say to ye to ’ave ye run for the ’ouses at the bottom o’ the Mount?”
He chuckled. “Be ye tryin’ to scare me off?”
“No. I merely be curious to see what else ye can take.”
“I think ye’d be surprised.”
“I don’t know. I do ’ave more secrets to reveal.”
“Don’t we all?” he mumbled without thinking.
Their eyes met, her gaze holding a weight to it he recognized all too well. But it was a weight he was tired of bearing that evening.
They’d spent far too much of their time speaking of sorrowful matters. Perhaps it was time for a change.
“Speakin’ o’ secrets,” he said. He turned to face her, waiting to continue until her eyes met his. “’Ow did ye know I could sing?”
Her eyes rounded, and her chest rose as she drew a deep breath. “Oh, I…” Her words faded as she swallowed.
How he wished for more daylight in that moment, for he knew very well that another blush had graced her cheeks with its presence. For now, however, he would merely have to be satisfied with the way she peered up at him, the moonlight twinkling in her eyes .
“I told ye ’fore,” she said. “I ’eard ye in church.”
He took a step closer to her, shaking his head. “But I don’t sing in church.”
She looked away. “I be certain ye do.”
He couldn’t help but smile. “I be certain I do not. I ne’er sing in front o’ people, so that leads me to only one conclusion. Livvy May, ’ave ye been spyin’ on me?”
