“Even if everything you say is true,” she said slowly, “Your father has made his position clear. He does not believe that a relationship between us is possible.”
“Have you asked him?”
“I overheard…”
“Overhearing is not the same as asking.” Anna’s interruption was swift and certain.
“You heard part of a conversation. You don’t know what came before or after. You don’t know the context or the nuance or any of the things that transform raw data into meaningful understanding.”
“She’s right.” The new voice came from behind Mel, deep and rough and achingly familiar. “You don’t know any of those things.”
Mel turned.
Rhys stood in the doorway that led to the back of the house, dressed in yesterday’s clothes, his hair disheveled and his eyes red-rimmed from what looked like a sleepless night. He had the appearance of a man who had been pacing the halls for hours, wrestling with demons he could not defeat.
He looked at the scene before him: Mel with her trunk, the three children in their nightgowns and the standoff in the entrance hall that his daughters had apparently orchestrated.
“Don’t go,” he said.
The words were simple, stripped of the eloquence that usually characterised his speech. They were the words of a man who had run out of clever phrases and charming deflections, who had been reduced to raw honesty by the prospect of losing something he could not bear to lose.
Mel felt her carefully maintained composure begin to crack.
“You said you couldn’t enter into a matrimony with a governess.”
“I said a great many things. Most of them were excuses dressed up as logic.” He stepped into the entrance hall, closing the distance between them but stopping short of reaching her.
“I was trying to explain to Benedict why pursuing you was impossible, why I should let you go rather than drag you into a scandal that would follow us both for the rest of our lives. I was building an argument against the very thing I wanted most.”
“Why?”
“Because I’m terrified.” The admission came out rough, as though it had been dragged from somewhere deep inside him.
“Because every time I’ve wanted something truly, it’s been destroyed. Because Celeste passed away waiting for me to be brave enough to make her my wife and I cannot bear the thought of making the same mistake with you.”
Mel heard the children’s breath catch, heard the shuffle of small feet as they drew closer to each other for comfort. This was adult territory, adult pain, and they were witnessing it with the wide-eyed attention of children who understood that something momentous was happening.
“You told Benedict I was too far beneath your station.”
“I told Benedict what I thought society would say. What the scandal sheets would print. What the whispers would sound like behind our backs.” Rhys took another step forward. “But you didn’t hear what I said after that.”
“What did you say?”
“I said that none of it mattered. I said that you were worth every scandal, every whisper, every raised eyebrow and pointed snub. I said that I had spent fifteen years being a coward and that I was finished. I would sooner endure the coldest disdain of the ton with you at my side than pass another hour in this wretched masquerade of indifference. I am overcome as I hold you in my highest esteem. I cherish you deeply.”
The word landed in the silence of the entrance hall, settling over all of them like a blanket.
Affection.
“You were going to tell me this?” Mel’s voice came out steadier than she felt.
“I was coming to find you this morning. To explain about London, about Mrs. Hartington, about all of it. To tell you the truth and beg you to stay.” His eyes moved to the trunk at her feet.
“It appears I nearly waited too long.”
“You did wait too long.” Anna’s voice cut through the moment with characteristic precision. “Miss Grace had her trunk at the door, another five minutes and she would have been gone.”
“Thank you, Annabelle, your timing assessment is noted.”
