“You’d be surprised how often the two traits are combined,” she told him, taking a bite of pie. The moment the sweet, fruity symphony of flavors hit her tongue, she reached out and grabbed Leonard’s hand for support. It was like lying on a bed made with freshly hung linen, the smell of the sun and the wind wafting up from the sheets. It was peace and pleasure all in one.

She opened her eyes and saw she was still holding hands with Leonard across the table. She smiled sheepishly. “Sorry.”

“It’s a fairly common response,” he assured her, though he seemed reluctant to loosen his hold on her fingers. Her hand looked so small in his, but he was cradling it like it was something delicate and precious. She could feel the magic that lived on his skin, as much a part of him as his pores, but it was unnatural and wrong. This wasn’t him. This awkward clumsiness was like a pair of shackles, holding him back. To his credit, the moment she pulled away, he let go.

Charlotte cleared her throat. “I’ll try to keep the obscene noises to a minimum.”

“I don’t mind so much,” he admitted, his cheeks flushing. When she giggled, he went on with his story. “Anyway, from what my grandad told me, Seamus O’Donnell just loved mocking people he didn’t consider quite up to his snuff. People who had less than him. People who weren’t as ‘polished.’ In April 1813, there was a grand party for a young lady who was ‘coming out,’ one of the other well-to-do families in the county. She tripped over the hem of her gown coming down the stairs into the ballroom, laid flat out on her face for her own party. Poor girl. Well, of course, Seamus started laughing and making stupid jokes about her tripping over her own ‘oversized feet,’ asking if the musicians had any music fit for a horse to clomp along to. For weeks afterward, he would make whickering noises if he saw her out in town. That sort of thing.”

“What a jackass.” She sighed.