Page 54 of Debtor’s Daughter

She stiffened, her expression furious, but did not fight him, taking his arm again, albeit reluctantly, and they carried on walking. The others were far ahead of them now and there was no chance of anyone saving her from his determination to speak.

Suddenly anxious, Larkin wondered if he was doing the right thing or simply exposing himself to more heartache. The thought was terrifying, yet he was not a coward, and he would not let a chance for happiness slip through his fingers, only to regret it later.

“I suspect it is no secret, but the reason I behaved so badly in my recent past was because I had my heart broken.” Larkin waited for the moment when he regretted the words and felt mortification for having admitted it to her, but as he looked down and saw nothing but empathy in her eyes, he knew he was not mistaken. “It was entirely my fault,” he added with a smile. “I realise now I have a fatal flaw, the desire to be heroic in some small way. I own a property with my friends, named Gillmont. It is a home for women who have been ill-treated by men, by life, and gives them shelter. I have personal reasons for being aware of the plight of such women –not as a result of my own behaviour,” he added hurriedly.

“I never thought that,” she said, her voice unexpectedly warm. Her approval eased his nerves, and he carried on.

“Elmira was one of those women and, like with Miss Caroline, to begin with I was captured by her beauty, by the combination of strength and fragility. She became my muse, my heroine, and I put her on a pedestal. A place, I might add, that she had no desire to be,” he said ruefully. “We became close, and I believed I knew her, but I saw only the surface, what I wished to see and believe, and she allowed it. When I discovered she had not been entirely honest with me, I was devastated. But I realise now that I had been rudely awoken from a dream of my own making and, if I had been paying attention, I would have realised I was being a fool.”

She was silent for a long moment, and he walked beside her, fretting he had been too frank, and she thought less of him for confessing his idiocy.

“I believe we have a good deal in common,” she replied finally, and looked up at him, pain in her eyes. “I believe I fell in love with the idea of my husband, and not the man himself. He was so very handsome, and sweet and kind, and I was young and foolish and swept away by the romance of it, falling in love with his splendid uniform and his bravery at going away and fighting a war in a foreign land. The two weeks we had together were idyllic, and I want to believe that we would have grown together, and come to love each other deeply in time, but I cannot help but worry that if he had returned, I would have been a terrible wife to him. I fear sometimes that we were so ill matched I would have made him wretched. That truth plagues me, for sometimes it makes me feel I had a lucky escape, that I am relieved he is dead, and that is a terrible thing to live with.”

Larkin heard the pain in her voice and wished he could take it away but did not know if could find the words. “If he had lived, you would have been glad, and you would have done all in your power to make him happy, no matter how ill-matched you were,” he said carefully, wondering if he was making things worse. “It is not your fault that fate intervened, it is simply the outcome with which you must live. I can understand your guilt, but I think you are too hard on yourself and ought to allow yourself the chance to be happy again, no matter what the truth of your feelings might have been if the outcome had been different.”

She let out a soft sound and covered her mouth with her hand. To his horror, he realised she was weeping.

“Forgive me. I’m a damned clumsy oaf and I keep saying the wrong thing,” he said desperately.

“No.” She shook her head, gathering herself and taking a deep breath. “No. You are kind, as you always are. Thank you.”

Larkin nodded but knew there was still much to say. “That’s why I didn’t kiss you.”

Her breath caught and she stared up at him, tears still glittering in her lovely eyes, shocked that he’d spoken of that desperately awkward scene and not continued to pretend it had never happened.

“Not because I didn’t want to,” he ploughed on, determined that this time she did not misunderstand him. “But because I did not want to make another stupid mistake and ruin a friendship I valued very highly. I was afraid my feelings were not to be trusted, and the truth is, I still don’t know exactly what it is I feel, or want, but I need you to know that I hold you in the very highest esteem and I would not trifle with you. I know what it is to have your hopes raised and then dashed, and that is why I pulled back, despite already having done a good deal to encourage you to believe I had feelings for you. I was a clumsy fool, and I have regretted it for every second since that moment. Can you forgive me?”

She gaped at him, looking so utterly bewildered by his words that he had to smile.

“Is it so very shocking?” he asked her softly.

“Yes,” she managed and gave a startled little laugh. “I thought I had misunderstood, read too much into your words, but—but I had not?” She continued to stare at him, searching his face for confirmation.

Larkin covered the hand that was now clutching at his sleeve and smiled. “You had not.”

She blushed and looked away and then glanced at him again but could not hold his gaze.

Larkin waited, hoping she would say something, but he seemed to have stunned her into silence.

“I do forgive you,” she said, after an interminable wait that made him wonder if he’d said the wrong thing again. “But I must also beg that you forgive me. I have been very rude to you and that was dreadful of me in the light of all the very great kindnesses you have done for my family.”

“Your contempt was very well deserved. I promise you I never reproached you for it. But the question is, Mrs Finchley, what now? Will you continue to be my friend? Do you trust me enough to consider the possibility we might be more than that in time?”

“I do,” she said, without a moment’s hesitation and then smiled, as it was his turn to look startled. “I do,” she said again, staring at him this time. “And I want you to know I have told you the entire truth about myself. I’m not hiding any secrets that you will uncover later or pretending to be something I am not. I wouldn’t know how. I’m afraid I’m simply not that interesting,” she added with a laugh.

Larkin let out a breath, feeling strangely liberated, the weight of guilt and regret that had burdened him falling away. “I’ll be the judge of that,” he replied warmly.

They continued walking in companionable silence, occasionally exchanging glances that seemed to contain a good deal more communication that either of them was ready to express in words just yet.

3rd November 1850, Berwick Street, Soho, London.

Maggie walked home with her hand upon Larkin’s arm, feeling as though she were floating on a cloud. The sunshine had fled, but to her the world around them seemed sunny and bright and full of promise. She kept stealing glances at the man beside her, hardly daring to believe she had not dreamed the entire thing. A shaft of terror pierced her heart as she wondered if she was actually at home in bed and this just the working of her desperate imagination. But no, his arm was solid beneath hers, the chilly wind stung her cheeks and tugged at her bonnet, and Caro and Connie’s lively chatter continued nonstop behind them until they arrived at their front door.

“Thank you so much, Mr Weston. We had a delightful walk,” Maggie said, feeling suddenly shy as his eyes met hers.

“We must do it again,” he suggested.

“Oh, yes, Maggie! Do say we can,” Caro broke in before she could answer. “On Wednesday?”