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They continued their walk to Green Park, conversing about their families along the way. He shared anecdotes about his nine nieces and nephews, and she related the most recent news from her family.
“I now have thirty-two nieces and nephews living,” she said quietly.
“Do you wish you could return to Shropshire?”
“No.” Her reply was immediate, and she sensed his keen attention. He didn’t pry further, and she bit her tongue before she revealed more of the truth.
When you become better acquainted, your task shall be to explore each other’s armor, including the dents. His might not be to your liking. Yours might not be to his.
Lady Clara’s advice bandied about in her mind, and soon she found herself sharing more. “I love my family. I do. I miss them. But I could never live there again.”
He made a supportive sound, encouraging her to continue. Almost disbelieving, she glanced his way, finding him listening calmly.
“I don’t know how I survived there as long as I did. Only because I didn’t have a choice. Yes, the hours are long working as a maid.” She raised her chin. “But I receive a salary at least. Not like at home. I have my own chamber. Not like at home. London is bustling. More noise. More filth. But Lady Clara’s household, before and now, it’s clean. Quiet. Predictable.”
“Reliable.”
“Yes!” Perhaps hecouldunderstand.
They crossed Piccadilly, one of the widest streets in London, and entered Green Park. Almost entirely trees and turf, it was at once simple and peaceful. For much of the year, it was aptly named; today it smelled of the autumnal blanket of crimson and golden leaves on the ground. A few still-green leaves clung stubbornly to the half-bare trees.
“Lady Clara always thought I was useful,” she heard herself admit. “She let me be. Permitted me to orderherbelongings asIneeded to.” She stopped and closed her eyes, remembering what a luxury that had been. “No brothers and sisters and nieces and nephews moving items about.”
“You have the respect of the entire household, it’s clear to see.”
She considered this. “Perhaps,” she allowed.
“Your father was a cobbler?”
“He was until he died three years ago. Four of my brothers apprenticed with him and are shoemakers as well now.” She stared out into the trees, but her mind was full of the sights and sounds of her father’s workshop.
A shudder ran through her at the reminder of the years she spent—most of her life—living surrounded by disorder. She’d no sooner set her father’s workshop to rights before he’d pull out half the tools again and they’d be strewn about.
Maybe Frederick’s workshop is not so bad.
But the mere thought of it caused her to shake her head.No, it doesn’t look right!
She forced her attention back to the man walking by her side. “I heard your affection when you spoke of your brother’s children. Have you suffered over your decision not to father your own?”
Frederick stopped walking and stared into the sea of fallen leaves ahead of them. His answer was so long in coming that Molly wondered whether he would reply at all.
“I have not.” He turned to her, his face set solemnly. “Never could I admit this to anyone else. Perhaps you’ll think me…cold. As warped as the piano lid. But I never wanted children of my own.”
“Why not?” she asked, her tone curious and kind.
He took in a fortifying breath. “Children emit a great deal of sound. Too much. Numerous odors, as well. Their maintenance is a drain on coin like no other. Their movements and moods are unpredictable. In small dosages, their company is charming, and I love my family. But whenever I return to my quarters above the shop, it’s a relief to be in the peace and quiet.”
Molly covered her mouth to prevent the laughter from escaping. It was unseemly enough to share his opinions, indelicate to delight openly. When she trusted herself to speak, she took his hand. “We’re two peas in a pod, Frederick Vogel.”
His smile was radiant rather than amused. “Thank God for you, Molly Hawkins.” They resumed their walk, dragging their boots through leaves like children and breathing in the earthy scent. “Next year, I hope you’ll be Molly Vogel.”
Her secretive smile was borne of embarrassment over her daydreams of late imagining her new name. “You’ll have my formal answer at Christmastime, but yes, Frederick, yes.”
He wrapped an arm around her; the park wasn’t very busy today, and at their ages, she trusted that strangers would assume them to be a married couple strolling.
Molly paused and turned into Frederick, glad when he pulled her into an embrace. She leaned her head on his broad shoulder.
The thought about their ages was an unsettling reminder of their differences. As confident as she was about Frederick’s affections, she wondered about what his family would make of it.
