Paul brought the stick back to Mr. Cross and he threw it again with uncommon strength. It spun over itself, round and round, as it sailed through the air. The dogs followed with a storm of barking.

He looked at her. “But…you do have an opinion?”

“Not an opinion. I only wonder—”

“About what?”

“About you.” Warmth seeped into her cheeks. “Just…you.”

Chapter 12

“What about me?” Mr. Cross asked.

“I don’t know. All sorts of things, I suppose.” A cold gust of wind over the sea whipped at the ribbons of Clara’s silk bonnet. She brushed them back from her face. “When I first arrived here, I couldn’t tell if you were a groom, or a guest, or even a gentleman.”

He didn’t reply. But his head was bent, listening to her as they walked.

“And now I wonder why, when you’re so happily disposed toward animals and outdoor work, you’d wish to take up a position that ties you to a desk and ledger.”

He absorbed her words in stony silence. A long moment passed, and then: “I wonder about you,” he countered.

Her eyes met his.

“I wonder why you were…upset…yesterday. And why you sent that t-telegram.”

“It was to my mother. In Edinburgh.”

“I know that much.”

“Yes, well…” Clara generally preferred to keep her own counsel on family matters. But it wasn’t as if it was a secret. “My mother rarely answers the letters I write to her, not as a matter of course, and never in a timely fashion. If I want to learn anything about my brother, it seemed more expedient to wire her.” She kicked at a small rise of wet sand. “There’s a chance she’s aware of things that haven’t yet been made known to me.”

“Such as?”

She sighed. “I don’t know. It may very well be nothing, but…I can’t seem to rid myself of the feeling that something is wrong.”

Mr. Cross fell quiet again as they walked.

It prompted her to confide even more. “He sends me his notes from his lectures and readings, and from the sessions with his tutors.”

“Why?”

“So that I might learn what he’s learning. His notes permit me to attend Cambridge, too, after a fashion. It’s unconventional, to be sure, but there’s nothing so shocking about it.”

She knew her words to be false as soon as she uttered them.

It was shocking. And grossly unladylike. She was stealing knowledge meant only for her brother. Presuming to raise herself to the level of a gentleman, even if only to a lesser degree. A lady wouldn’t aspire to such. And if she did, she’d have the good sense to restrict her studies to their proper milieu. A ladies’ society, or better yet, the tutelage of an indulgent husband.