Chapter 2

Micah didn’t pay attention to a single word the minister uttered. The steady cadence of his voice rose and fell over Micah in an unending stream, but Jefferson captivated him. He wanted to take advantage of the chance to watch Jefferson without being watched in turn. Occasionally, Jefferson twitched, and Micah stiffened, wondering if he would look over his shoulder and notice Micah staring.

The minister’s closing prayer crawled over his skin. Each word marked another second, dragging him forward towards the meeting he had been fantasizing about for months. Then the prayer ended, and Jefferson rose to his feet in a single, smooth motion.

His legs were numb. Micah knew he should stand, follow the others out as they filed down the center aisle, but with the moment so close at hand, his body refused to obey even the simplest command. Several members of the congregation cast him a curious glance as they passed, but no one paused or said a word.

Jefferson was too busy helping an elderly woman to even notice him when he went by.

Mobility returned when Jefferson disappeared through the church doors. Micah scrambled to his feet then, but had to wait until the others had cleared the way before hurrying off after him.

Ignoring the attempts of the reverend to flag his attention, he skirted the milling crowd for the familiar ginger head near the street.

“Mr. Dering!” he called out. Jefferson turned at the sound of his name, small lines forming between his brows as he watched Micah approach. “Mr. Dering,” he repeated, once he stood before him. “You have no idea what an honor this is for me, sir.”

The lines deepened. “I’m sure I don’t, because I have no idea who you are.”

Micah flushed. It was his own impatience getting the worst of him. How many times had he been chastised for just that fault? Too many to count. By professors, for his incessant need to get to the point of it. By his parents, for his keen inability to remain settled for long. He had been so excited about this meeting, he hadn’t followed protocols at all.

“My apologies.” He took a step back, bowing his head in deference. “Micah Yardley. I’m a student of letters at Harvard. I had the privilege of hearing you speak last month.” The heat burned in both his cheeks and eyes as he glanced shyly up at him. He hadn’t realized the man was so much taller than him, a good six inches at least. “I thought your work was absolutely breathtaking.”

Jefferson held out his hand, patiently waiting for Micah to pull himself together. Micah took it, politely, weakly, and the lines between Jefferson’s eyes disappeared, but he wasn’t quite smiling.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Yardley.” The wind picked up, blowing leaves around their legs. Micah shivered. “Perhaps we should continue this conversation off the street?”

Nodding towards where the coach still stood outside the inn, Micah said, “My man and I have secured lodging at Mrs. Ruark’s for the next few nights. I’ve been assured her Sunday roasts are well worth the money. Would you like to join me for dinner?”

The corner of Jefferson’s narrow mouth lifted, and his blue eyes seemed to soften. “Thank you. Whoever told you about Mrs. Ruark’s Sunday roasts wasn’t lying.” As he spoke, he turned towards the inn, and his hand brushed against Micah’s arm. “I can never resist her specialty.”

He managed not to make more of a fool of himself as they strode down the street. Head high, hands in pockets to hide his nervous gestures. His mother would have a fit if she saw, but he’d use forgetting his gloves as an excuse. Which, on second thought, she’d also have a fit about, so it was a very good thing she wasn’t currently there.

“Is everything arranged, Ewan?” he asked as they approached.

Ewan nodded. “Yes, sir. I’ve just to stable the horses and get your bags to your room. Mrs. Ruark says to go ahead and have a seat in the dining room. Dinner will be on momentarily.”

Micah smiled, but as he stepped towards the doorway, he paused and glanced back. “See what drink she has. The sun is deceptive today, I fear. We’ll be wanting something to warm us once it’s set.”

Jefferson walked into the dining room with comfort, as though he was walking into the dining room of his own home. He settled near the top of the long table, a seat that was clearly his regular choice. Micah hesitated for only a moment before selecting the chair next to him. The tantalizing smell of meat and roasted potatoes drifted into the warm room, followed by the heady smell of coffee.