She stared at him. "They believe..."
"They believe whatever best occupies an idle afternoon."
She understood then. ”No!” A quiet certainty had entered her voice.
"No?"
"You mean they blamed you… for not helping her or recognizing her intent, surely. But not… no one would suspect— I cannot imagine such a thing!”
He smiled, though there was nothing approaching amusement in it. “There are many theories, Lydia, but not a one of them is flattering to me.”
"That is absurd,” she protested, her indignation rising.
"So I thought, as well.”
She did sit then, finally. Sinking into the chair opposite his desk, as if the weight of the revelations was too much to bear standing up. ”They cannot truly imagine?—"
"They can imagine a great many things, and they do. Without fail.”
She shook her head, her anger palpable. ”They are wrong … And they are fools.”
He met her gaze. "I know."
“The stupidity and ignorance of anyone who would think you capable—I cannot comprehend it,” she said simply. And then silence descended.
For the longest time, neither of them spoke again. The words seemed to hang between them with a weight neither had anticipated. Lydia realized first what she had said. Color rose swiftly into her cheeks.
"I only meant..."
Oliver spared her the embarrassment of explaining. "No."
His voice was quieter than before. “It has been a very long time since anyone but mother defended me so staunchly. I beg of you, allow me to hold onto the belief that you meant precisely what you said.” He looked away before continuing."No matter how angry I have ever been with a woman, I have never once considered violence an acceptable means of settling a disagreement."
"I know.” The words escaped her before caution could intervene. Another silence settled between them. This one differed from the last. It carried memory. Recognition. Something perilously close to the ease they had once sharedbefore either remembered it had been forfeit so many years before.
After a moment, Oliver drew a measured breath. "Mrs. Baxter was not exaggerating when she spoke of your reputation. Every reference she supplied praised your patience, your intelligence, and your uncommon gift with children. I should be remiss if I allowed village gossip—or a past connection that feels like it was a lifetime ago— to deprive mmy daughter of such a governess."
Lydia lowered her eyes to the floor. "You make it sound so very sensible."
"I assure you, it is."
She shook her head. ”It is not sensible. It is madness.”
"I have discovered," Oliver replied, "that those two things are not always mutually exclusive."
She looked at him then, and for the first time since entering the room he thought he caught the faintest glimpse of the young woman he had once intended to marry. It vanished almost immediately. "I do not know whether I can do this.”
"I know."
"And yet you expect me to,” she threw the words out almost like an accusation.
"I hope you will try. That is all,” he answered. It was true. Perhaps not the entirety of the truth, but enough of it to spare his conscience.
"I shall require a little time."
"You shall have it.”
He crossed to the bell pull and gave it a single measured tug.
