Edwina furrowed her brow. “What is it?”
“You are not as reserved as you usually are,” Miles observed.
“I suppose I’m not,” Edwina said.
Miles’ eyes roamed over his surroundings and acknowledged, “I think you might have found the most picturesque place I have ever seen.”
Turning her attention back towards the stream, Edwina remarked, “This was my father’s favorite place to come and sit. He would do so for hours. When I want to feel close to him, I come here and try to remember his voice. He said my name in a way only a father could, a way that I knew meant love.”
“I am sorry for your loss,” Miles said, knowing his words were wholly inadequate.
Edwina acknowledged his words with a subtle tip of her head, choosing to remain silent. Not that he blamed her. He had heard that same phrase offered countless times after the deaths of his wife and brother. He couldn’t help but wonder if people uttered these words out of genuine empathy or merely as a societal obligation.
They lingered there, time stretching out before them. Miles sensed he should depart, yet against his own judgment, he inquired, “How long has it been?”
“A little over four months now,” Edwina sighed. “Everyone said that it gets easier with time, but they are wrong.”
“That they are. No amount of time will fill the void that was left when your father died. It festers, robbing life of its joy.”
Edwina regarded him with curiosity. “You speak from experience.” Her words carried a weight of knowing, as if she had already assumed his answer.
“I do, regretfully so,” he admitted, reluctant to disclose more.
“That person must have meant a great deal to you,” she prodded gently, her words laced with sympathy.
Miles felt his back grow rigid at her words. “They were very dear to me.” That was all he wished to say at the moment.
Thankfully, Edwina seemed to sense his discomfort anddid not press him. Instead, she said, “My uncle thinks I should just move on from my father’s passing, just as he has so easily done.”
“Everyone grieves differently,” he attempted.
“I don’t think my uncle grieved at all.” Her hand shot up to her mouth. “Forgive me. That was?—”
Miles interjected, “The truth.”
She lowered her hand and responded, “Yes, but I shouldn’t have said such a thing.”
“You need not fear. I will not betray your confidence,” Miles assured her.
Edwina offered him a grateful look. “How is it that you are awake at such an early hour?” she asked. “I thought you preferred to sleep in.”
“No, Bennett implied such, but I enjoy waking up before dawn and being alone with my thoughts,” he said.
“The mornings are the only time that I feel as if I am able to breathe.”
Miles led his horse to the stream to drink. “I do apologize for intruding on your solitude. That was rather thoughtless of me.”
Edwina’s expression softened. “I know it may sound contradictory, but it is nice to not be alone.” She hesitated before adding, “I am sorry that I asked you about the war. That was callous of me.”
Miles grew somber. “The war was my life. Until it wasn’t. Now I am left a broken man with nothing to show for it.” The weight of his words hung in the quiet air, as the stream continued its peaceful murmur.
“I share your sentiments, except for the war part. My father was my whole world. Until he wasn’t,” she remarked.
Edwina grew silent, and he feared he might have unintentionally upset her. As he was about to express his concern, she spoke up. “I should be going. We wouldn’t want to risk being seen with one another, considering the circumstances.”
“I had a similar thought as well.”
She bit her lower lip before saying, “It was nice to have someone to talk to. I grow tired of everyone looking at me with pity.”