are for marriage,” I say, really just to see him squirm. He does, and I burst out laughing.
He clears his throat. “I believe we ought to let that analogy die a quick and quiet death.”
“Oh, but it’s so much fun. And you squirm adorably. So terribly Victorian of you.” I reach to refill our tea. “I’ll release you from the conversation with a question about Cordelia. How is your sister?”
When he doesn’t answer, I look up to see his expression and stop, tea spout poised over his cup.
“Oh, I’m sorry,” I say quickly.
“It’s all right. Cordelia and I had a falling out many years ago. I told her to leave, and she did, and I have not seen her since. I regret that, but . . .” He clears his throat. “Perhaps we could change the subject yet again?”
“Of course. I am sorry. I know you two were close and . . . That is not changing the subject at all. I . . . So . . . How is Mrs. Shaw?”
He laughs at that, a sudden one that startles me.
“Yes,” he says. “That is where we are left. My family reduced to my elderly housekeeper.”
“I’m sorry—”
“I understand how this might look, Bronwyn, but I assure you I am not a lonely and bitter old man, haunting the moors. You knew me perhaps better than anyone, and that alone proves that I was never one to seek the company of others. Society may call me a recluse, but I’m hardly a hermit in his cave. I participate fully in village life, and there is gentry out here, families I have maintained contact and friendship with. That may sound as if I doth protest too much, but I suspect you are one of the very few people who know me well enough to accept that I could be happy in this life.”
I nod. “I do. I understand that, too. Before Michael—my husband—passed, he wanted me to marry again, have children. But once he was gone . . .” My hands flutter into my lap. “There are times when I think I should date, but part of me fears if I go looking, I’m bound for disappointment. I can’t get that lucky a third time.”
He pauses. “There was someone else? Someone you lost?”
I realize what I’ve said, and I want to withdraw, change the subject. But I steel myself and look up at him.
“Someone I left, and even if I didn’t intend that, even if there was no future for us, it is still a lost love. It was wonderful and magical with a boy who was everything I dreamed of, and I honestly never thought I’d find that again.”
William says nothing. His breathing has quickened, though, and he’s watching me carefully, as if I might be talking about another boy.
“Michael wasn’t you,” I say. “I was glad of that—I wouldn’t have wanted someone who reminded me too much of you. But he was his own kind of special, and when you’ve had that twice, it seems unwise to tempt fate by looking again. I have my work. I have my friends. I have my father and his family. I know that, to some people, it sounds as if I’m putting a good face on a bad situation, but I’m not. So, I just meant that I understand your choices.”
He looks down at his hands, as if wishing for a teacup in them, something he could fidget with, focus his attention on.
“I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable,” I say.
“No, of course. I’m not. I just did not expect that. About us.”
“Which makes it uncomfortable. We were fifteen, William. Children, as you’ve said. It was more than half a lifetime ago. I’m grateful for what we had because it ensured I was never going to settle for less in a relationship. I just wanted you to understand that you did mean a great deal to me, and I certainly didn’t leave because I wanted to.”
“I know.”
“Perhaps I should leave now, though, and come again another time.”
“What?” He looks up sharply. “No. Please, don’t. If you need to go, then of course, I understand, but in no way am I hinting that I’d like you to do so. We have tea to finish. Then, perhaps, if you have time, we could take a walk.”
“A walk would be lovely, but I’d rather see your horses.”
He laughs at that, relaxing. “Now you are trying to pay me a kindness. You do not need to