“Intentions are not guarantees.”
“No, they’re not. Nothing is guaranteed. But you already know that, don’t you? You’ve known it since you were sixteen and your father walked out the door.” His voice softened. “I cannot promise you that I will never disappoint you. I cannot promise that I will always be the man you deserve. I can only promise that I will try. Every day. For the rest of my life.”
Mel stood very still, feeling his hand on her arm, feeling the warmth of his presence, feeling all the possibilities that opened up before her like a road she had never dared to walk.
“You’re asking me to trust you.”
“I’m asking you to give me the chance to earn your trust. There’s a distinction.”
“Is there?”
“I think so. Trust that’s given freely is a gift. Trust that’s earned through consistency, through presence, through doing the right thing even when it’s hard, that’s something more. That’s something worth building.”
She thought about Viola’s shell, still sitting on the entrance hall table where she had placed it that morning. The child had given her that shell as a gift, freely, without expectation of return. And she had taken it, had treasured it and had let it become a symbol of everything she had found in this house.
Could she do the same with this? Could she accept what Rhys was offering, knowing that it might be lost, knowing that hope was dangerous and love was a weapon that could be turned against her?
“Don’t decide what I can bear,” she said slowly.
“You’ve been doing that since the garden. Deciding that I couldn’t handle the scandal, couldn’t handle society’s censure and couldn’t handle the weight of your reputation. Deciding for me what was too much, what was impossible, what I should be protected from.”
“I was trying…”
“I know what you were trying to do. You were trying to spare me the consequences of choices that were yours to make. But those are my consequences too. If we do this, if we build this life together, I will face everything you face. The whispers. The judgment. The scandal sheets writing whatever they please about the duke who married his governess.”
“I know.”
“So don’t decide what I can bear.” She reached up and placed her hand over his, the one that was still resting on her arm.
“Decide what you’re willing to fight for. Decide whether this life, these children, this future we might have together, is worth the battle. And then trust me to fight alongside you.”
The words settled between them, heavy with everything they implied. Rhys looked at her with an expression she could not quite read, something between wonder and gratitude and a desperate, aching hope.
“You are extraordinary,” he said quietly.
“I have known many women, charmed many women and pursued many women. None of them were like you. None of them saw me clearly enough to say what you just said.”
“I’m not trying to be extraordinary. I’m trying to be honest.”
“Which is what makes you extraordinary.” He turned his hand beneath hers, so that their palms were pressed together, their fingers interlacing.
“I am willing to fight. For all of it. For the children, for this house, for the future we might build together. I am willing to face scandal and censure and whatever else society decides to throw at us.”
“And if the battle becomes too hard?”
“Then we fight harder. Or we fight differently. Or we find allies and strategies and ways around the obstacles.” His grip tightened slightly.
“But we don’t stop fighting. And we don’t make decisions for each other about what we can bear.”
Mel felt something shift inside her, some final resistance giving way. She had spent so long protecting herself, building walls, refusing to hope. And here was this man, this complicated, frustrating, beautiful man, offering to help her tear those walls down.
“I don’t know how to do this,” she admitted. “I’ve never had a family, not the kind you’re describing.”
“Neither have I. Not until a few months ago, when a governess arrived at Hartfell and taught me what it meant to be present.” He smiled slightly, the expression soft and genuine. “We’ll learn together. We’ll make mistakes together as we go.”
“That sounds terrifying.”
“It is terrifying. But the alternative is worse.” He raised their joined hands, pressing his lips briefly to her knuckles.
