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“Good night.” It had been spoken so softly as to be barely audible.
He stood, but his feet refused to move. For some reason, he felt certain if they parted now the gulf between them would widen into a chasm he’d never be able to cross. The thought was unbearable. An electric pulse ran throughout his body as what he’d been denying now for weeks crystallized into sudden clarity. I love her. “Headmistress?”
“Yes?”
To hell with consequences that may never be. “If, after all of this has been resolved, I were to…” He struggled for the right words. “Would you consider—would it be possible for me to call on you?”
“You are a friend to this school and all within it,” she answered at once. “You will always be welcome here.”
“No, I don’t—I don’t mean I want to visit the school—” That hadn’t come out right either! “What I mean is, I’d like leave to call on you. Personally.” Panic filled him at her soft gasp of surprise. “Tell me I have not deluded myself into thinking you feel something more than friendship for me?”
It took a moment before she seemed to find her voice again. “I—I hardly know what to say. We barely know each other. Until very recently, I knew you as Mr. Woodson, a teacher of mathematics. Now, you are Mr. Danbury, a Westminster constable sent here to investigate me and my school. How am I to respond?”
“My name is Will,” he murmured, the ache in his chest almost unbearable. “And you may ask me anything you like, though you already know more of me than most.” Swallowing, he pushed past the fear of what might happen if her past was exposed. “As for me knowing you, I know enough to feel confident in asking you to consider making me the happiest of men.”
“You don’t.” She stood and turned away.
Dread settled over him like a black pall, followed by desperation. “Why? Is it the scars?” He had to make her understand. “I don’t care about them. I’ve plenty of my own. Really nasty ones. But they’re only marks on the vessel that holds the soul, not the soul itself.”
Her voice was choked with tears when she spoke. “For you, perhaps. But the scars I bear are both visible and unseen. I’m not like other women. I—”
Placing his hands on her shoulders, he gently turned her around to face him. “I don’t care about your past. I care for the woman before me. She’s noble and strong, kind and generous. She’s courageous and good. Your scars are nothing to me. But you, you are everything to me. Don’t you understand? My intentions are honorable, Jacqueline.”
“You are honorable, monsieur.” In the dim light, the glitter of tears spilled down her cheeks as she stared up at him, her expression one of both pity and regret. “But you don’t understand. My scars cannot simply be overlooked. I can never—”
“I need to know how you feel, and you need to know my sentiments are anything but shallow.”
“We cannot discuss this here, not now,” she said, backing up a step. “This conversation requires privacy.”
“Then we’ll meet somewhere else. I don’t care where.”
She shook her head. “My room is on the same hallway as the girls. As for yours, Mrs. Sloane and Mr. Bartleby—”
“We need to talk about this!”
“Yes, we do,” she answered quietly, her voice sounding strangely hollow. “But it will have to wait.”
“It cannot,” he said, his heart pounding with fear. I’m losing her! His only hope lay in convincing her of his sincerity. “I want to marry you.”
Her face contorted for a moment, as if his words had inflicted a terrible pain. “You don’t know what you are aski—”
Gathering his courage, he bent and kissed her, pouring all his hope into that gentle pressing of lips. Joy and triumph surged through him when she didn’t immediately pull back, and he raised his palms to cup her face, deepening their contact. Her breath caught, and she opened to him, returning his kiss in full measure.
He felt her begin to tremble, and withdrew. “You cannot tell me you feel nothing for me,” he breathed against her lips.
“My feelings are irrelevant,” she said in a clogged voice, her hands coming up to rest over his. “Please understand—I can never marry. Not you, not anyone.”
Grief and disappointment threatened to crush him. “I cannot force you to accept my suit. All I can do is hope you will allow me the chance to prove—”
“This is not about proof,” she interrupted. “I believe your intentions are honest.”
“Then what is to prevent our marriage? Do you not return my sentiment?”
She stood there in silence for a long moment. “Come to my room at a quarter past eleven—don’t allow yourself to be seen—and I will make everything clear.”
Bewildered, he watched as she turned, strode to the door, and disappeared. Because of him, she’d fled before her shift’s end. He’d finish it for her.
The minutes ticked by with agonizing slowness; each second seemed a lifetime. As soon as his relief arrived, Will didn’t hesitate. Heart racing, he crept down the hall and slipped into one of the empty common rooms to wait.
