“… your brother’s garden again,” she finished.
Henry nodded his head in understanding and offered her his arm. After a moment of reluctance, she took it and allowed him to lead her outside. Mrs. Sheer met them at the door, holding out a parasol for Beatrice.
“Thank you, Mrs. Sheer,” Beatrice said dully as she accepted the covering.
As they stepped out of the shaded area of the patio, Beatrice was immediately thankful for Mrs. Sheer’s intervention. The sun was far too bright and warm for Beatrice’s cold and dark heart, and she all but hid as the rays so very briefly touched her face before she had her parasol up.
“Are you sure you are still not cross with me?” Henry asked, pausing a moment on the steps that led to the garden. “If you need more time. To forgive me, I mean?—”
“Please do cease your worrying,” Beatrice gently insisted, daring a glance up at him. “I told you I forgive you, and I meant it.”
Henry gave her a reluctant look then with the nod of his head, he once more began to lead her on a walk.
“I swear to you it will not happen again,” Henry repeated.
“I do believe you,” Beatrice answered. She could not help but be kind to Henry. He had broken his promise, yes, but that transgression felt so very small compared to Algernon’s.
“Now you said you wished to speak to me?” she asked, hoping to urge the conversation along.
“I do,” Henry replied then drew in a breath as if suddenly nervous.
Beatrice did not push. She knew where the conversation was going, and she already had her answer.
“I had—havebeenhaving a wonderful time with you, Beatrice,” he went on. “You truly are the sweetest, kindest lady I have ever met, and I felt that way even before you graciously gave me your forgiveness. I am—well, my brother—he told me that you were aware that he was attempting to arrange us.”
He glanced toward her, as if he needed the confirmation.
“Yes,” Beatrice confessed. “I knew from the beginning that was his hope.”
“And you?” Henry asked. “What is your hope? Do you wish for marriage?”
Fresh pain oozed from Beatrice’s heart at the question.
Yes. But not to you.
“It is a logical step in the next part of my life,” Beatrice answered instead, her tone aloof.
“And you?” she asked, daring another look at him, “Do you wish for marriage.”
Henry gave her a sheepish smile.
“For the longest time no, I must confess,” he replied. “The life I prefer to live provides no reason for it. Now that I have matured some, though, I do see the use for it. Especially if such a union was with a young lady like yourself.”
Beatrice attempted a smile. It was clear that Henry was trying to flatter her. She just wished she could feel a genuine response to it and not the aching numbness that had been plaguing her.
“What else has my brother told you?” Henry asked, his tone becoming almost careful as he added, “About me, I mean.”
Beatrice shook her head.
“He wanted me to get to know you myself,” she replied. “He would not tell much other than that. Though I do suspect that you are harboring a secret of sorts, he would never explain what that could be.”
Henry let out a dry chuckle.
“Ever the protector,” he murmured as he shook his head.
Beatrice moved her gaze toward the gardens they were walking through, suddenly overcome with another bout of heartache.
“Forgive me, Beatrice, I have never had such a conversation with someone else before, and I suppose I find myself quite nervous about it,” Henry implored.