Was that perhaps the secret? To make mild statements of general curiosity instead of direct questions? It made excellent sense, now that she'd thought of it. After all, she wasn't terribly fond of direct questions herself, especially when those questions intruded on very personal matters. Encouraged, she tried something else. "I don't think that I have ever stood upon a point so high as this." She waited.

"No."

Just when Gemma had decided she would get nothing more from him, he went on.

"St. Paul's. Bell tower." He slid his gaze from the road to meet her surprised one. "Prank. Four brothers." As if that explained everything. Then, "Ale."

Perhaps it explained a great deal. Heavens, five sons! It sounded wonderful — and somewhat terrifying. Gemma had always imagined herself with a houseful of children, but as time went on she'd resigned herself to two, or perhaps one. Then Edmund had been lost and that one child had never come.

Still, five sons. "Your mother must be exhausted."

Mr. Worthington did not answer. When she looked at him again his expression had gone quite set and his jaw tensed. Oh dear, the four brothers were not a touchy topic, but apparently his mother, Iris, was too tender a subject to touch upon.

"I'll stay to drive for you." He glanced down at her well-wrapped wrist. "Until you're better."

Oh, yes. It would not do to forget that this man had been on his way from somewhere to somewhere else when they had met during the ill-fated festival. Was he headed home to his mother then? She had gathered that his family was in London, although perhaps that assumption wasn't correct. Some thought was required to come up with the appropriate indirect statement.

"I think the Dales are lovely. The winters are severe, but so worth it when spring comes. Do you know Yorkshire well?"

He shook his head quickly, not looking at her.

Unconcerned, she continued. "It is very different here from where I was reared. I was born in Cambridge. It is a fair-sized city, although nothing compared to London."

"Born in Shropshire." This time he did meet her gaze. "Sheep there too."

She had to grin, for although he remained very nearly expressionless, there had been something in his eyes, a flash of awareness of such an absurd link in common. He was teasing her. Weakly, and not well, but it was a sign to Gemma that there was a man inside, perhaps not whole, perhaps not entire, perhaps not yet. But Mr. Worthington was no drilled-out shell of a person. He was ever so much more than that.