“It’s different with him,” she admitted, more quietly now. “All my life, I’ve watched men approach me with forced smiles and tired compliments. They see my dowry. My father’s trade connections. My mother’s ambitions. But Arthur… he seesme. And what’s worse, he listens. He actually listens.”
“That sounds like a very good thing, Abigail,” Charles said gently.
Abigail gave a soft laugh. “It is. And that’s what frightens me.”
“You’ve always despised the painfully transparent courting ritual of the ton, Abigail. Could this be your chance to secure a match that has the potential of love? Perhaps Arthur is only hesitant because he fears being hurt again. It might not be any reflection on his true feelings for you.”
There was a long pause. The breeze rustled the leaves above them. Somewhere across the path, a pair of ducks quarreled noisily at the water’s edge.
“I did not expect this,” she said softly. “I never wanted to fall in love.”
“Because you also fear what comes with it,” Charles said, not unkindly. “The loss of control. The vulnerability.”
Abigail remained silent as she contemplated his suggestion.
“But vulnerability in a relationship is not a bad thing, Abigail. It opens the doors to each other’s souls. Allowing yourself to be vulnerable is giving permission to the other person to stand up for you, and support you when you need it most.”
“I fear,” she said slowly, “that I’ve allowed myself to fall in love with someone who never intended to give his heart away. And I fear even more that I have no idea what to do now.”
Charles regarded her with thoughtful silence for a long moment.
“You know,” he said at last, “I suspected you might fall for him.”
Abigail blinked. “You did?”
He smiled. “You have always been drawn to sharp minds and sharper wit. And he has both in abundance. But more than that, you’ve always wanted someone who treated you as an equal. And Arthur… for all his emotional ineptitude, sees you as just that. We’ve all seen the way he looks at you. I’d be incredibly surprised if, deep down, he didn’t feel exactly the same way.”
She flushed, looking down at her hands. “The arrangement. It was meant to be temporary, emotionless. Strategic. But now I do not know what he feels—or even what I dare hope he might feel. He… kissed me.”
Charles tilted his head slightly. “Ah. A rather significant development, wouldn’t you say?”
“It wasn’t part of the performance,” she said quickly. “It wasn’t planned. We were on the terrace at Lady Gillian’s ball. And… it simply happened.”
Charles said nothing, allowing her to fill the silence.
“It felt… real. And terrifying. And right. And then the moment passed and he said very little. And now I feel as if I’ve been left standing alone in the midst of something neither of us anticipated and haven’t the faintest clue what to do about it.”
Charles leaned back on the bench and folded his arms loosely. “And what do you want to happen?”
“I don’t know,” she whispered. “Part of me wants to believe he’s struggling with the same feelings. That he’s afraid. That he doesn’t know how to love after Sophia. But another part of me worries I’ve mistaken kindness for interest. Politeness for affection.”
Charles smiled faintly. “You are far too perceptive to make that mistake, cousin. And, I hate to state the obvious, but, as a general rule of thumb, you generally don’t kiss people and risk scandal out of politeness.”
“I wish I shared your certainty. He said kind things. But the next moment, he looked away. And today… nothing. No letter. No call.”
“The man has likely only just woken up… if he slept at all,” Charles said softly.
A few carriages passed along the outer lane, their wheels crunching over gravel. A breeze lifted the scent of fresh earth and lilac through the air.
Charles placed a comforting hand atop hers. “Abigail, you must understand that a man like Arthur—reserved, proud, burdened by expectation—he will not be quick to reveal his heart. Especially if he’s been hurt before. He speaks of Sophia Carter with the weight of one who carries deep-seated war wounds. And yet… he looks at you as if he is afraid of how deeply he already feels.”
The words struck something in her chest—something hopeful and terrifying all at once.
“And what am I to do with that?” she whispered. “Continue pretending? Continue performing while my heart yearns for something true? What if Edward Colton offers for me in the meantime? He keeps referring to me as his future wife.”
Charles gave a small shake of his head. “You cannot control what Arthur feels or what Edward will do. But you can control whatyoudo. Speak honestly. Ask plainly. Risk something, if only to know, once and for all, where you stand.”
She looked at him, her cousin, her confidant, the one person who had always treated her more like a sister. “And if I lose him?”
