Page 33 of Lady of Providence
“Do not apologize, Elizabeth, for taking a moment to yourself.”
“What was it you wanted to speak to me about?” she asked him now, and he sighed at how quickly she reverted back to business. Did the woman never take any time to actually enjoy life?
“I actually have something for you. A gift, if you will.”
“Oh, you really shouldn’t have,” she said, and he knew they were more than just words — she likely sincerely felt that he should not have brought a gift of any sort. For that would mean that he was expecting something of her, courting her — of which she was clearly not accepting.
“I wanted to,” he said softly. “And you deserve it.”
She eyed him somewhat warily but took the offered box from his hands, and he felt a jolt when their fingertips brushed as she took it. It was as though he were a young lad in the first blush of love around her. How was he letting a woman affect him so?
But affect him she was.
She took the box in her long, elegant fingers, carefully unwrapping the twine and then the brown paper, before carefully folding it on the desk beside her. Gabriel couldn’t seem to bring his gaze away from those hands, as he pictured them on his neck, running down his chest, and further, down to—
“Oh, Gabriel.”
Her voice, low and throaty, brought him out of his reverie. Her gaze was in her lap, staring into the box she held, now open to reveal the contents within. Slowly, she reached inside, lifting out a writing set. She set the items upon the desk — the feather quill pen, nib pen, ink well, and blotter, arranging them just so.
She picked up the pen, running her fingers tenderly over the blue-green feather.
“This is beautiful,” she whispered almost reverently. Gabriel resisted the urge to smile in satisfaction. “Is this from a peacock?”
“It is,” he nodded, steepling his fingers together in front of his face.
Elizabeth was about to return the pen to the holder when she eyed it more carefully, turning it one way and then the next.
“Gabriel,” she said slowly, “This feather is from a right wing, is it not?”
When she turned to look at him now, he nodded.
“As much as you try to hide it, I am well aware of your tendencies to write with your left hand — a practice your parents surely attempted to change?”
“They did,” she said, her cheeks coloring. “I am perfectly able to write with my right hand but… you are correct. I do prefer the left. It is easier. How did you know?”
He shrugged. “By watching you. Whenever you think no one is looking, you write with your left hand, and then when you know others are watching, you switch to your right. You also tend to use your left hand in other actions as well, though you likely do not even know it.”
Her face turned even redder at his words, which somewhat disconcerted him.
“I apologize, Elizabeth, I didn’t mean to offend you—”
“Oh, you didn’t, not at all,” she said with a wave of her hand. “I suppose I simply wasn’t aware that you — or anyone — had actually noticed at all.”
“Of course I noticed,” he said softly. “I notice everything about you.”
She looked up at him then, catching his eye, and he tried to determine what her gaze was telling him. It seemed to hold partial respect for his observations, and yet some wariness as well — as though it concerned her that he kept such a diligent eye upon her.
While she stared at him, Elizabeth was absently running her fingers over the holder, and she must have felt something beneath the skin of her fingertips as she broke their gaze to inspect it further.
“What is this?” she murmured, and she turned the ink well for a better look.
“Elizabeth Moreland, Senior Partner,” she read, then, feeling a matching engraving on the other side, turned it around quickly. “Thomas Clarke, Senior Partner,” she read, followed by the years her grandfather had been senior partner of the institution.
She looked up at Gabriel once more, and now her eyes were slightly shiny with the tears within.
“Where did you find this?" she asked, her voice nearly breaking, though she was able to maintain control.
“I had it commissioned,” he said with a smile. “I thought it would be a reminder to you of the connection you had — and still do — with your grandfather. He would be very proud of you, Elizabeth.”
