Page 58 of The Summer Country

“But you called on her,” Jenny protested. “You called again and again.”

“It was wrong, I know. I called, but not to see her. I came to see you.” Mr. Davenant took a step back, away from her, speaking rapidly. “If there were any way I could, in honor, say yes, I would. But I cannot. Bad enough to be thought a fortune hunter. Worse to be like my father and be always looking over my wife’s shoulder at—at her maid.”

Jenny’s fingers were ice-cold; her cheeks burning hot. She felt frozen in place, unable to move or look away. “There are some who would think that a boon.”

“Do you truly think that of me?” Their eyes met and Jenny could feel the force of his longing like a physical thing. Or maybe it wasn’t his longing but hers, a desire that took her by surprise, as strong as the craving for water after drought. To be cared for. To be loved.

“Would you have married her—otherwise?” Jenny asked hoarsely.

“If I had, I would have done both of us a disservice.”

The silence resounded between them. Jenny could practically feel the warmth of him through the well-tailored layers of wool and linen he wore, not the master of a plantation, not her mistress’s suitor, but a man, laying his heart bare to her.

Mr. Davenant cleared his throat, locking his hands behind his back. “My brother has feelings for her, I think. I’m not sure he knew he did until I returned home, but he’s been like a dog in a manger these past few months. If he were to come up to scratch . . .”

“She cared for him once. Before.”

“There’s a play, Much Ado About Nothing. The hero and heroine refuse to admit their feelings for each other, so their friends make a plot. Each is told that the other is sick with love.”

“I know,” said Jenny, and then realized how rude she sounded. “I attended my mistress’s lessons with her.”

Mr. Davenant looked at her in a way that made her feel warm through. “And profited more from them, I’ll wager.”

“My mistress was always more at home with numbers than words.” Jenny wasn’t quite sure why she felt the need to defend her. “She can add a line of numbers faster than any man in the parish.”

Mr. Davenant nodded. “If I were to speak to Robert, and you to Miss Beckles . . . I could tell him that she refused me on his account.”

Jenny turned the notion over in her mind, testing it. “And I could tell her that you refused her on account of your brother’s feelings.”

“It even has the benefit of being true!” Mr. Davenant beamed at her, his golden hair rumpled across his brow, looking to her for approval.

Jenny frowned at him. “But the colonel—Master Robert—”

“Is in his pocket? I know. But I think Robert will want Beckles more. And Miss Mary Anne, of course,” Mr. Davenant hastily corrected himself.

Jenny rather thought he had the right of it the first time, that Master Robert would want Beckles first and Mary Anne second. But, then, Mary Anne felt the same way about Peverills. She was not a romantic. Not like Mr. Davenant.

“It will do Robert good to come first in something,” said Mr. Davenant seriously. “He minds not having Peverills. If he marries Miss Beckles . . . it will give him something to do. I doubt the colonel will have much hold over him once he has a purpose of his own.”

“It might serve,” Jenny said cautiously.

“It will serve,” said Mr. Davenant, as though saying it could make it so. “They seem to me to be well suited. I think they might make each other very happy. So you see, we won’t just be averting a tragedy, we’ll be doing both of them a good turn.”

There was something about the eagerness in his face that made her chest twist. “Do you always believe the best?”

“I try to.” He grimaced. “There’s a ridiculous character in a Voltaire satire, a Dr. Pangloss, who’s always insisting that all’s for the best in the best of all possible worlds, no matter what horrors befall him. I like to think I’m not so naive as that, but I do believe that one can create the good by working toward it. God gave us reason so that we might raise ourselves above our baser natures. There is no ill we cannot cure if we set our minds and our wills to it.”

“No ill?”

“Well, the man-made ones. I’m not sure what we can do about tempests and plagues, but I can promise that I will do all in my power to help you.”

Jenny twisted her hands in her skirt to keep from reaching for him. “To help Miss Mary Anne, you mean.”

Mr. Davenant winced. “Er, yes. That is—I’m sorry.”

“For what?” In the distance, Jenny could hear the sound of music. Crop Over was being celebrated with drums and dance and song in all its joyful glory, but in here the sounds were muffled, softened. She felt miles away from everything and everyone, in this dark, safe place, forgotten by the world.

“For putting you in an awkward position. Of course I’ll do all I can to help your mistress. I only—I only wanted you to know why I felt that it would be wrong of me to marry her. I wouldn’t want you to feel in any way constrained, or put upon, or—”