CHAPTER 21
She had not planned to go to the library.
She had come downstairs for a glass of water, which was true, and had taken a wrong turn somewhere between the kitchen and the stairs, which was less true, and had found herself outside the library door with the line of light underneath it that meant someone was in there and that she already knew who.
She stood there for a moment before she opened the door.
Harper was at the desk. He looked up when she came in, and neither of them said anything for a moment.
“I couldn’t sleep.”
It was the only excuse she could think of at the moment.
“Sit down,” he said.
She sat, not in the chair across from the desk where she usually sat when he had summoned her for something practical, but in the armchair by the fire, which was further away and more comfortable.
It felt a bit too dangerous to be any closer than that to him tonight.
“I am glad you are here,” Harper sighed, “though it is a late hour. I owe you an apology.”
She looked at him then.
“This afternoon,” he said. “In the park. The way I handled it was not measured. I was not subtle and that lack of subtlety has consequences for you in terms of how the afternoon will be interpreted by anyone who witnessed it.”
She looked at him for a moment.
“Are you apologizing for defending me,” she said, “or for how you defended me?”
“For how,” he said. “Not for the thing itself.”
She absorbed this, wondering still what must have been going through his head at the time.
“People were watching, you know,” she said. “I would not be surprised if I hear whispers about this.”
“I know.”
“That is not like you,” she said. “You are always careful about being watched, as you are about everything.”
“I know,” he said again. The way he said it told her more than a longer answer would have.
She looked at the fire, which had burned down to something low and steady. “I don’t know whether to accept it,” she said. “The apology.”
He was quiet for a moment. “Why not?”
“Because I don’t know what you are actually apologizing for,” she said. “You say it is for the manner and not the thing itself but the manner is the part that…. you keep confusing me.”
He looked at her. “I know,” he said.
“You tell me to marry and then you send away every man who approaches me. It as though you want to help and then you make it harder. You say one thing and you do another and I cannot…. I cannot find a consistent position with you, and…. I find that very difficult.
“I know,” he said, for the third time.
“Oh but why do you keep saying that? It only makes me more confused.”
“My reaction was disproportionate,” he sighed. “But I did not want anyone to speak harshly in front of you. You can excuse that, surely.”
“But…” she twisted her fingers in her lap, “you… well…”
