"Set on this scheme, are you?" he ventured, finishing his sausage and wishing she were as hesitant about marriage as every other girl in England.
Amelia looked stunned, as though he'd questioned her very character. "I am! And it's hardly a scheme. This is my life's commitment."
"Spurred on by a novel?" he chided.
She startled, and he wondered if he'd offended her. She cleared her throat and folded her hands, looking concerned at his failing to grasp the book's depth, and set to explain it. "A Patient Heart is more than a novel. Did you read any, while I was out? What did you think?"
He weighed out a diplomatic answer. "I found parts of it rather…bold."
He expected her to blush or fluster, but she hmm'd and nodded frankly. "Some parts are very shocking. And I admit they make me curious."
Patrick's chest spasmed, and a crisp bite of tart lodged in his throat. He hacked and beat is breast, eyes watering.
Amelia crumpled her paper, oblivious. "Though, I greatly question the mechanics of several acts described by the author."
"Well!" he cried, jumping up from the table, "You must be exhausted, after our travels and your walk this afternoon."
She looked up, and if she noticed the heat burning his face, she showed no sign. "No, not especially."
"Exhausted," he repeated, drawing upon the power of suggestion, and feigned a yawn. "Not even a nap set me right."
"I suppose we will have an early day tomorrow," she relented, getting up and closing the curtain on a now-dark world outside. "Mrs. Gaveston says the men will be back late tonight, and the blacksmiths, and plenty of witnesses."
He hadn't bothered to mention earlier that any other anxious couple in Gretna Green could act as witnesses, if they could find someone to perform the ceremony. He'd thought to buy time and reason with her, or at least better understand her, but so far his plan had yielded little fruit. "An early day, indeed," he muttered, thinking how brief a stay he'd purchased, and eying Amelia's crate with growing hesitance.
"I suppose that means bedtime," Amelia returned matter-of-factly, opening her valise.
He stared and swallowed, their room suddenly small. "I suppose it does."
* * *
Amelia took her things into an adjoining bathing chamber, where a proper flush toilet stood beneath a neatly-engraved plaque declaring: 'The Only One in Gretna Green'. She marveled at such a dubious distinction while she undressed. It was a marvelous convenience, but it certainly conflicted with the rustic tone she had set for her adventure. Then she splashed her face, slipped into a clean chemise, and bundled into the deep flounces of her white dressing gown.