Once confident he was out of earshot—it would not do for the servants to gossip about her below stairs—she charged ahead. “You’ve a great deal of cheek calling here, sirrah.”

What is he doing here? Is he here to apologize to the master of the house for availing himself of his pond?

“Have I?” he asked, bowing slightly, as though in afterthought, but his gaze remained fastened on her as he extended her the courtesy.

She did not like that stare on her one little bit.

That dark gaze of his was unnerving. His eyes were so dark it was impossible to determine where his pupils ended and began. Much too unnerving and much too unreadable. She felt exposed. As though he were peeling back all her layers to see to the core of her, which was as impossible as it was ridiculous.

This man, this stranger, did not know her . . . and he could not see to the truth of her.

So few people could. Her friends from girlhood had all grown up and married and started their families. They were busy with their own households and did not have time for her—unless it was for medicinal reasons. Sometimes she wondered if even her sisters truly understood her. They were happily married, and were often pointing out gentlemen in the village to her, bachelors they deemed suitable . . . as though they believed Nora should join their ranks and marry, too. As though it were that easy to fall in love. As though Nora even wanted to.

“Indeed. Have you come here to apologize for earlier today?” she repeated.

“Apologize?” He said the word slowly, as though it were a foreign thing he was testing out on his tongue. “No. No, I did not come here to apologize.”

“You did not?” She canted her head and sharpened her gaze on him. Everything about his presence here baffled her and an uneasy sensation started in her belly. “What then are you doing here, sir?”

“I’ve business here, and as for my swim in the pond . . . I merely wished to refresh after my long ride and make myself presentable.”

“Hmph.” She crossed her arms over her chest. “You’ve business with Warrington then?”

“I did not say that,” he replied rather vaguely. “It was not he with whom I’ve requested an audience.”

They had fetched Nora to attend him. That was true.

Presumably then, he had asked for Nora. She frowned. That made no sense.

“If you’re not here for Warrington . . . who then are you here to see?”

“Why, Dr. Langley.”

She flinched.

It was strange to hear her father’s name uttered in a manner that implied he still lived, that he still walked among them. It had been years since his passing and his absence had faded to a dull ache, but hearing his name spoken out loud by this man was jarring. The dull ache of his loss flared anew to a stinging pain.