Page 14 of The Sisters of Sea View
Instead of replying, she stepped to the desk heaped with broadsheets and unopened post. “Shall I begin with the newspapers or your correspondence?”
When he didn’t reply, she glanced back and discovered his exposed eye glaring at her.
“You are a stranger to me. Why should I trust you to read personal, potentially confidential correspondence?”
She shrugged. “No reason I can think of.”
“Have you at least a character reference?”
“No. This is my first situation. I have never been obliged to seek one before.”
“A letter from your vicar, perhaps?”
“No.”
“Will you not at least reassure me—claim to be a God-fearing, God-honoring young woman?”
She shook her head, throat suddenly tight. God-fearing, yes. God-honoring? No.
His exposed eye lit with interest. “You do not believe in God?”
“I do. I just ... don’t like all His ways.”
Again he harrumphed. “I suggest you go home now and take your sister and her cur with you.”
“I assure you I am not a gossip, sir. I have no one to gossip to.”
“Ha! Except three impertinent sisters, a mother, and a houseful of boarders? With that many females about, details of my personal life would be spread from Peak Hill to Salcombe Hill within the hour.”
Feigning bravado, Viola turned to the pile of broadsheets. “Newspapers it is.”
She picked up the top few. “The Exeter Flying Post? Or do you prefer the London papers?”
“Is there nothing from Derbyshire?”
“There is.” She picked upThe Derby Mercuryand scannedits contents. “What shall it be? Grain prices, or marriages and births?”
“If you must read about markets, pray,notthe marriage market.”
She began reading under the headingCorn Exchange:
“On the twenty-first of this month, our ports will again shut against the importation of foreign wheat, rye, and beans. On Wednesday, English wheat was one shilling cheaper per quarter, and rye and white pease a full two shillings lower....”
She stopped and looked up. “Why Derbyshire, if I may ask?”
“You may not ask.”
“You came here for the sea air, then, as we did?”
He made no reply.
“Shall I go on to the prices of sugar, hops, and leather?”
“No. I was merely gauging your reading skill. You are articulate, I grant you.”
Rare pleasure warmed her. “Thank you. I have worked hard to become so.” Harder than anyone knew.
“Although you might speak louder,” he added. “At least if you insist on remaining way over there.”
