She trailed off, unable or unwilling to name what she could not be. But he heard it anyway. The words she was not saying. The possibility she was refusing to acknowledge.
“I know what you cannot be.”
“Then don’t make this harder than it is.”
“What is it, Mel?” He did not step back either. They stood there, closer than they had ever stood, the air between them thick with everything they were not saying.
“What is this thing that we are both pretending is not happening?”
“It is not happening.” Her voice was still steady, but he could see the effort it cost her. The control she was exerting over her own response.
“Nothing is happening. We are two people who have spent too much time in each other’s company and have developed an inappropriate familiarity that must not be allowed to progress.”
“Is that what this is? Inappropriate familiarity?”
“It is what it must be. There is no other option.”
“There is always another option.”
“Not for a governess and a duke.” The words came out sharp, carrying an edge he had not heard from her in weeks.
“Not for a woman of no family and no fortune and no position beyond the one she has earned through work. You may be able to imagine another option, because you are a man and a peer and the rules have never applied to you. But they apply to me. They will always apply to me.”
He absorbed this, feeling the truth of it settle into his chest. She was right. The rules were different for her. The consequences were different. If he pursued this, if he allowedhis feelings to become actions, she would bear the cost. Her reputation. Her position. Her future.
He had already failed one woman he cherished deeply by being too afraid to face the consequences. He could not fail another by being too reckless to consider them.
“I must apologise,” he said.
“For what?”
“For making this harder than it needs to be.”
She was quiet for a moment. When she spoke again, her voice had softened.
“You haven’t made anything harder. You have simply… named it. The thing we have both been avoiding.” She took a breath, and he saw her composure reassert itself, the walls rebuilding with practiced efficiency.
“It would be better if we did not walk in the garden at night anymore.”
“Would it?”
“It would be wiser.”
“That is not the same thing.”
“No. But wisdom is what we require.”
She turned and walked toward the house, her footsteps steady on the gravel path. He watched her leave and the moonlight catch her grey dress and her brown hair and the particular straightness of her spine, and he did not follow.
He remained in the garden.
The oak tree was solid against his back, the bark rough through his coat. The roses continued their slow process of dormancy around him. The owl called again in the distance, and the house remained dark, and the world continued turning as though nothing significant had happened.
But something had happened. Something was happening still, inside his chest, where a realisation was forming with the force of something he had been refusing to see.
He found himself utterly captivated by Mel Grace, his every thought and endeavour becoming an homage to the affection she had inspired within him.
Though he was quite undone by his affection for her, she possessed a most formidable strength of will, ensuring that his sentiments remained unrequited and, more painfully and unacknowledged.
