“It’s not you,” she whispered, sounding stricken. “I just—I prefer exile tomarriage.”
He blinked. She came into focus again. Hadn’t Harbury told him that she objected to the wedded state, but not necessarily to him?
She brushed away a tear with the palm of her hand.
Even with red eyes, a redder nose, and blotchy pale skin all over, he still found her alluring. Heartbreakingly alluring. Would she be crying if she weren’t equally conflicted?
Would she be crying if she weresuremarriage to him was the wrong solution?
He checked the horse—the animal’s eyes had grown soft and easy, his nostrils had become perfectly relaxed ovals. For whatever reason, the horse no longer felt Neville a threat.
Taking care, he approached Millie. Once standing in front of her, he folded his hands behind his back, simply to prove he was not a threat. Then, he dipped his head to try and catch her downcast gaze.
She avoided him at first, but he persisted. Finally, she lifted her eyes, meeting his. She studied his face, even as her own face reflected back vigilance in every line.
Cautiously, he worded his question—a question more important, at present, than the one he’d come here tonight to ask. “Is there anything I can do or say that would change your mind?”
She sniffed. “I don’t think so.”
Not a yes. But better than ano. “I haven’t actually asked you for your hand, you know.”
Again, she dropped her head. “I know.”
Time.He needed time. And to buy that precious resource, he suggested the first nonsense that came to mind. “Perhaps a delay is in order? Proposals should always be made in daylight,” he said as if this was law.
Her glance was wary.
“You are tired. You need rest.”
“I don’t thinkI canrest.”
“Because of me?”
“No.” Her features twisted with disgust. “Because I knowheis out there. I had thought myself the only one Willard hated, but…”
Her voice trailed, and she looked up at him with an expression he’d never seen before.
“Asquith just told me about what happened to him in school,” she explained. “About what you did for him.”
He didn’t feel comfortable accepting praise for what he’d done in the furtherance of justice. Aggressors won, unless one proved equal or of greater strength.
“In the end, Asquith protected himself.”
“Asquith spoke only of the past in relation to Willard.” Her gaze locked on his. “But Harbury mentioned that you cameto him with what he calleda concern,present tense. Is there something you have not told me?”
“Yes,” he admitted. “But not only you. Asquith doesn’t know. AndHarburywouldn’t know, either, if my uncle hadn’t forced my hand.”
“Will you tell me?”
Her question felt like a test. If so, she’d chosen a good one.
After all, for months, he’d distanced himself from his own mother over the issue, thinking such things should not be a lady’s concern. Clearly, he’d been wrong not to involve her from the start. She’d accomplished in a fortnight what he’d been unable to do in six months—find Temperence.
A mother, even a wife, was not, as his father had suggested, merely something acquired, protected, and put on display.
His mother had brought him crucial information he hadn’t been able to find on his own. And he never would have gotten Millie out of the theater without Sarah’s clever intervention, and Millie’s own courage.
“I trust you, Millie.” As he said the words, he realized how deeply they were true. The one thing Millie had always been unafraid to tell him, if not the truth, then exactly what she thought of him.