The Wilder Wedding. Lyn Stone

he has my direction. It’s his move. Would you like an ice before we go back?”

      She rolled her eyes and grinned. “Good Lord, Sean, you’ve already had two since breakfast! I’m beginning to think that’s the only reason you accepted this assignment.”

      “It’s very warm today,” he said, looking a little petulant, “and you nag like an old nanny.”

      “I’d hate to have been your old nanny. You were a right little monster, I’ll wager. A nasty little scupper.”

      His eyes narrowed and he looked away. “Just so.”

      With his taciturn reply, Laura recalled that Sean had never had a nanny at all. His childhood must have been frightening and shameful, lacking any of the amenities she had enjoyed. Unlike her, he’d had his mother with him. But could even a mother’s love compensate for passing one’s tender years in a place rife with sin and degradation? She thought not.

      He had seemed cynical about it the one time they had discussed it, the day she had proposed to him. Small wonder. Laura felt guilty now that she had reminded him even though it had been inadvertent.

      Though it was certainly not of the prurient sort, she admitted to a curiosity about what his life had been like there. Perhaps if he recounted some of his early experiences, they would not appear so ghastly to him after all this time. She could point out how such adversity had fostered a strength and self-reliance in him that most men envied and women found infinitely attractive, as well as comforting. Especially this woman who had married him.

      “Shall we visit your mother in Cornwall when we return from Paris?” she asked, hoping to turn the conversation happier.

      “No, I never visit unless it’s absolutely necessary. The memories I bring are distressing to her. And to me,” he added.

      “Would you like to tell me about it?” she asked gently.

      The look he gave her was angry and defensive. “Not for a sure place in heaven would I relive it, even with words. And certainly not with you.” With that, he strode right past the ice vendor and on toward the hotel, leaving her to follow.

      Laura knew she had overstepped the bounds of their relationship. She cursed her quick tongue and wondered if she had destroyed what little progress they had gained in becoming true friends.

      Hurrying her steps, she caught up to him and reached out for one of his fisted hands. “Sean? I do apologize. Please don’t be angry with me.”

      He altered his stride so that she didn’t have to run to keep up. “I’m not angry, Laura,” he said without looking at her. “Not with you anyway. It is just that some subjects are not for the ears of a gently bred woman. Trust me that my existence on Gumthorne Street definitely qualifies.”

      Laura sighed and remained quiet for the rest of their walk back to the hotel. Sean’s silent preoccupation led her to believe he must be dwelling on his past in spite of what he’d said about not reliving it in any way. How often did he do that? she wondered.

      She must be very careful not to refer to it again. Somehow, she believed that his recounting it aloud might help him bring it into proper perspective, but the risk of alienating him altogether seemed too great. Perhaps, someday, he would trust her enough to bare that darkness in his soul.

      If there was time. She accepted the fact that she would die soon. The certainty troubled her still, but strangely enough, the occurrence of death itself bothered her much less than the things she would be forced to leave undone. Important things like loving Sean as completely as he deserved.

      Laura squeezed the large hand that encompassed hers and placed her other over the top of it. Sean turned his head, looked down into her eyes and smiled. “Tell me I haven’t spoiled the whole afternoon.”

      “What’s past is past,” she said as brightly as she could manage. “Right now is all that counts.”