“And you haven’t seen them since?”
“He’s gone, Miss Oliver. I’m sorry.”
The pity in his dark eyes stopped her from saying anything else. She stiffened her spine. “Not that it’s any concern of mine. I only wondered because he had promised to escort Mrs. McGovern and Miss Hodwell on a promenade today.”
“Of course, miss. If I hear any news of him I’ll be certain to let Mrs. McGovern know.”
“Thank you, Harold. Good day.”
“Good day, Miss Oliver.”
She walked back home, her mind churning. Danny had been called away on urgent business, but he would return as soon as possible. Or if he couldn’t return straightaway, he would at the very least write her a letter explaining his hasty departure. She would wait for the post every day and intercept it before her mother saw what had arrived.
Chapter Seven
Keep idle hands and fretful minds busy with useful work.
—Mrs. Oliver’s Rules for Young Ladies
Several weeks later
“I still can’t believe that heartless Mr. Smith left without so much as a by-your-leave and then never even wrote you a letter to explain his departure,” said Miss Hodwell.
“Don’t worry about me.” Sandrine attempted a carefree smile. “I’ve forgotten all about him. I have so much to occupy me now with plans for the benefit to raise funds for a new roof for the orphanage.”
“Good for you, my dear,” Mrs. McGovern said with a brisk nod. “You’ve a sensible head on your shoulders, unlike some I might mention. Do straighten your cap, Dodie. It’s sitting sideways on your head.”
Except that Sandrine hadn’t forgotten Danny at all. She remembered every glance, every word, every touch. Some days she wished she’d never even met him so that she wouldn’t feel so destroyed by his absence. She’d been happy in asubdued, restricted sort of way before she met him. She realized it now that her heart felt like it had shriveled to a dried husk rattling around in her chest.
Danny was gone forever. She’d dared to think he could be everything to her when she’d been nothing to him.
“Still, I’m very sorry, dear Miss Oliver,” Miss Hodwell said. “I had hoped that he might prove to be a worthy suitor for you.”
“I was nothing more to him than a passing fancy. I know next to nothing about Mr. Smith.” The one that could leave so coldly and never look back. Never even write to her.
“Have a macaroon, my dear. I find they soothe all manner of ailments.” Miss Hodwell thrust a biscuit at Sandrine.
“I wonder about Mr. Smith,” said Mrs. McGovern. “I can’t help thinking that there’s some mystery to him. That stallion of his was a fine specimen of horseflesh, the mount of a gentleman of social standing.” She straightened the carnation pinned to her breast. “And now to find that he’s only a common charlatan, a man that would dally with a young lady, give her expectations, and then depart so abruptly, so rudely. Well! We never should have allowed him inside our home.”
“He never made any promises. He even told me that he didn’t believe in love or marriage. I was the foolish one.”
“If I ever see that Mr. Danny Smith I’ll wring his neck with my bare hands,” Miss Hodwell said fiercely. “I’ll wrap him up”—she made twistingmotions with her hands—“I’ll squeeze him. I’ll make him pay.”
Sandrine giggled through the tears that were threatening to spill from her eyes, picturing the soft and petite Miss Hodwell strangling such a large beast as Mr. Smith.
“There, that’s an improvement.” Miss Hodwell handed her a rather sticky and dubious-looking handkerchief. “We’ve missed that bright smile of yours.”
Sandrine wiped away a few tears. “I’m very afraid that Mr. Pilkington means to propose soon.”
“Oh my. That is a calamitous thought, is it not, Dodie?”
“Calamitous indeed, Eve. I shudder to think of our sweet Sandrine having to share his abode. Much less his...” The two ladies exchanged glances.
“His what?” Sandrine prompted.
“His bed, dear.”
“Dodie! We mustn’t speak of such things,” Mrs. McGovern scolded.