“Miss Ashford,” James began gruffly. “Poppy…”
Her gaze snapped to his at the intimate use of her name. He knew the guilt she felt, and though he did not know her, James wanted to reassure her, wanted her to feel safe and comforted. Bloody hell. “From the letter you sent me, the doctors said he was weak and tired towards the end.”
“Yes,” she said in a trembling breath.
He reached up and pinched her chin, forcing her to hold his gaze when she attempted to look toward the brook. Those lovely eyes flared, but she did not draw away. “That, Poppy, is the only reason you did not speak as often. Now tell me the last words he spoke to you; what were they?”
“I…” her throat worked on a swallow. Water trailed down her face, tracing the hollow of her cheek. “He told me he loved me very much…and wished…and wished he had been able to provide me with a living.”
“There,” he murmured. “He said nothing about disappointment…nor at any time did he truly try to force you to marry that vicar. He had the power as your older brother, you know. But he did not. He knew the weakness in his body…and what he took the time to tell you was how much he loved you. Always remember that, and it is those words you keep in your heart, nothing else.”
She stared at him as if he were a creature sprouted from the muddy earth. It struck him then that perhaps kindness was a rarity in her life. A shudder went through her entire body, her face crumpled, and she flung herself at him, capturing James’ shoulder in a fierce hug.
The action surprised him, and he awkwardly patted her back while fighting to hold the umbrella steady. James stayed silent, listening to the harsh, wrenching sobs, thinking they expressed the very sorrow and regret he felt. Her tears belonged to him, and he shamelessly allowed himself the belief they were the tears he shed for his friend.
“You are soaked to the bones,” he murmured when she calmed.
“I do not feel the pain of this cold,” she whispered in the crook of his neck before releasing him as if she had been burned. Slight color appeared in her cheeks, but she did not glance away from his regard.
James silently held out the umbrella, and she took it without question. Standing quickly, he shrugged from his greatcoat. He took the umbrella from her and held out his coat. “Put this on. You’ll catch your death without it, and I suspect nothing I say will urge you to return to the main house.”
She stood, and he assisted her as much as he could with one hand to slip the coat on. Miss Ashford gasped. “It is incredibly warm…and smells most pleasant. Thank you.”
They sat, and she yawned a few times. Grief was exhausting. And she would feel the full effect of her tears later. James had no notion how long they stayed sitting there, but it must have been at least an hour to his mind. She had stopped crying some time ago and leaned back against the stone bench. He did not startle when she slowly pitched forward to jerk herself awake in time.
“You should return home,” he said. “You’ll land on your face in the mud and grass should you fall asleep here.”
“I cannot,” she said hoarsely. “I…I just cannot, not now. Not until the pain has faded. Not until I stop seeing my brother everywhere I turn.”
“You have an awfully long wait then.” Months, years, a lifetime, but he did not say anything so maudlin and realistic.
Miss Ashford did not reply, and he said nothing further. A few minutes later, the same thing happened, and once again, she caught herself from pitching off the bench.
“Good sir,” she began, pushing a strand of hair behind her ear.
How that startled him. Good was he? Never before had he heard such an appellation used for him. “Yes, Miss Ashford?”
“Might I avail myself the use of your shoulder?”
His heart twisted. How…improper and unexpected. Still, he would never refuse a lady in such need of sleep…and comfort. “You may,” he said gently.
And she did with a soft sigh. The feel of her wet head against his shoulder was an unexpectedly pleasant weight. Her breathing at first was shallow, and after a few minutes, became deep and even. She truly slept. Astonishing.
Several minutes passed, the tempest of the rain eased; however, Miss Ashford’s head kept slipping from his shoulder, and at least once, she pitched forward. James carefully lowered the umbrella, glancing at the sky. The rain had transformed into an icy drizzle. Ensuring he did not jostle her awake, he set the umbrella aside on the bench beside him. Quickly shifting, he placed one hand below her shoulder and the other around her waist. Then James lifted and placed her on his lap, her buttocks on his thighs, his chest and arm her pillows.
When he leaned forward and picked up the umbrella, her lashes lifted, and Miss Ashford stared at him. There was no fright or fear in her eyes to find herself intimately snuggled in his embrace. Her lids were red, swollen, and appeared very sleepy.
“I was hoping to offer a more comfortable and peaceful sleep,” he said gruffly, quite aware of the tips of his ears burning.
“Forgive my boldness and impropriety,” she whispered, lifting her face to his. “I thank you for your unmatched kindness. I shall never forget it.”
James held himself still when her lips pressed against his jawline. It was the most chaste kiss he had ever received in all his five and twenty years on earth, yet it sent his senses reeling, his heart trembling.
With a deep sigh of contentment, she shifted down, laid her head in the crook of his neck, and fell back into a deep slumber. The trust she placed in him humbled James and sent a strange ache through his heart. It was preposterous and scandalous that he had a young lady in his lap, deeply sleeping, exhausted from her outpouring of grief. It was even more ridiculous that he held her snuggled so with one hand holding her securely to his chest and the other hand holding the large umbrella, protecting them from the rain that appeared to have no intention of abating.
If anyone came upon them, honor would demand they marry, and that would be impossible. Even with that knowledge, James did not move her from off his lap. He stayed there until the rain stopped, until the sun lowered in the sky, and until the effort to hold himself still so that she was not disturbed became a burning ache.
It mattered to James that she rested. And damn if he would move despite his burning shoulders. A bird screeched in the distance; the wind ruffled the leaves on the trees. Miss Ashford stirred, and her lashes fluttered open. James glanced down at her, and her cheeks flushed a becoming pink. He helped her sit up when she struggled slightly, and she gently rose from off his lap to stand.
“Thank you,” she said. “I do not know how to repay your kindness, Mr. Delaney.”
He slowly stood. “There is nothing to repay, Miss Ashford. You are the sister of one of my dearest friends.”
They stared at each other in silence for several moments. James did not understand why his heart started its slow and almost painful drumbeat. There was something about her unfathomable gaze.
“Perhaps someday we shall meet again, Mr. Delaney.”
“I hope that we do, Miss Ashford. Please allow me to walk you home.”
She glanced toward the pathway leading to the manor house then back at him. “It is a path I’ve walked many times. I will be safe…and I need to be alone.”