him for an instant that she might have a title herself, far more important than his. “None of that makes any difference to me, and it shouldn’t to you.” He kissed her again then, and in spite of her concerns, she kissed him with abandon, and they were both breathless when they stopped.
“We should get back,” Charlotte said modestly. “I promised to help Lucy set the table when she finishes with your mother in the garden.” She put her riding clothes over her wet bathing suit and he did the same, and he gave her a leg up onto her powerful stallion. The horses had stood peacefully by, tied to the tree, grazing on the grass. His mare and her stallion were fast friends by now, and always pleased to see each other on their morning rides.
On the way back, Henry looked at her curiously. “Were there other things you wanted to tell me?” he asked her cautiously. He had a feeling that there were, and there were things she wasn’t saying that were weighing on her. She shook her head. She didn’t feel ready to tell him who her parents were. It was too big a secret to share so soon. He knew her only as Charlotte White, the daughter of a civil servant and a secretary in London. She knew he would be profoundly shocked by the truth. She would have to tell him eventually, but not yet. And his parents knew, even if he didn’t.
They left their horses in the stable, and hurried into the house. It was later than they’d thought, and there was suddenly an unspoken intimacy between them that one could sense, now that he had kissed her. Lucy was aware of it when they walked into the kitchen, and Henry’s mother when she saw them that night. As time went on, she worried more and more. They were so close and so comfortable with each other. Too much so, in her opinion. And Lucy was mournful and silent all evening. She felt left out by the two of them, as though they had a secret from her.
That night, Charlotte sat at her desk in front of a blank page for a long time, wanting to tell her mother about him, but she hated to do it in a letter, and wasn’t sure what to say. That she loved him? That he loved her? That he wanted to ask for her hand one day? Perhaps they could make a pact just between the two of them before he left, and then get engaged after the war. But he had to meet her parents first. She was thinking about it, and still hadn’t started the letter to her mother when she heard a soft knock on her door. She tiptoed to it, and opened it a crack, and Henry was standing on the other side, in the moonlight, and smiled at her.
“I wanted to kiss you good night,” he whispered. “Can I come in?”
“You shouldn’t,” she said, her heart pounding with excitement, but opened the door anyway. He walked in quickly on silent feet, and closed it behind him, and an instant later she was in his arms, and they were kissing again. His kissing her that afternoon by the stream had changed everything between them, and his admissions about his hopes for them had opened the floodgates that had been closed until then.
“I love you, Charlotte,” he whispered in the dark. Her whole body was shaking when she answered him. She didn’t want Lucy to hear him in her room.
“I love you too,” she whispered back. “Now you have to go.” No matter how much she loved him, she didn’t want to do anything foolish, and after several more kisses, reluctantly, he left. She didn’t write to her mother that night, but lay down on her bed, thinking about him. She closed her eyes for a minute, her heart full of him, and it was morning when she woke up.
They all went to church in the village that day, and Charlotte earnestly prayed not to do anything with him that she’d regret, and even more earnestly that he’d survive the war, and nothing bad would happen to him. Lucy had gone to church with them, and they all had lunch in the garden afterward, in the part that Lucy and the countess had worked hard to clear the day before, and the countess praised how hard she had worked, which cheered her