She withdrew her hand gently and masked her unease with a sip of tea.
She stiffened slightly, hoping it wasn’t visible. She had never considered her responsibilities a burden, not when they gave her purpose, not when they rooted her to the life she understood.
“I don’t find it a burden.”
He chuckled. “You’ve always been fond of your books and figures. But you’ll see. Once we’re settled, you won’t need to worry over ledgers.”
Her gaze sharpened, but she said nothing.
Rodney reached for her hand. “I worry for you, Mary-Ann. You’re too fine to be tucked away behind numbers.”
She eased her hand back gently. “And yet the numbers are how my father built this house. How he built everything we have.”
He faltered, just a flicker. “Of course. I didn’t mean—only that I want you to have a life of comfort and freedom from worry.
A life without purpose, a life she had fought hard for.
Mary-Ann nodded slowly. “That’s kind of you.”
There was a silence that stretched between them. Rodney broke it with a gentler tone.
“You know, when we’re married, I’d like to take you to the coast. Somewhere quiet. Just the two of us. No schedules. No accounts.”
For a moment, the idea didn’t seem terrible. She imagined wind on her cheeks, salt in the air, a day without figures or decisions pressing at her. His voice was gentle now, touched by something almost wistful.
She glanced at him. He looked…hopeful. Maybe even sincere.
It was a lovely thought. A simple kind of happiness. But somehow it didn’t feel like hers.
She smiled politely. “That sounds… peaceful.”
He kissed her knuckles and glanced toward the hallway. “I mustn’t stay long. I only wanted to see you.”
His gaze lingered too long not quite on her, but past her, toward the writing folio on the side table, the one she used for everyday notes. She resisted the urge to move it, to shield it. Instead, she smiled and said nothing, even as something in her chest went very still.
“You’ve always been clever that way.”
She rose politely as Mr. Hollis appeared to see him out. Rodney paused in the entryway before stepping outside.
“You know,” he said, adjusting his collar, “you always look too deeply, my dear. Not everything in the world needs to be solved.”
She held his gaze, her face unreadable. “Doesn’t it?”
He smiled faintly. “Sometimes a thing is just what it seems. And sometimes it isn’t worth the trouble to find out which.”
He bowed and left.
Mary-Ann closed the door slowly and turned the lock with deliberate care.
The scent of roses clung to the air, soft and floral, but it lingered too long, too insistently, like something meant to distract. She stood motionless, listening to the silence that followed in Wilkinson’s wake.
*
For so long,his charm had made sense. He had been the practical choice, steady, well-spoken, admired in town. He had been thoughtful, always knowing what to say. Even when he hadn’t stirred her the way Quinton once had, she had told herself love could grow where kindness lived.
And maybe it still could.
She crossed slowly to the window and parted the curtain with one hand to peer out into the street. Rodney had always spoken gently. Always with care. For a time, she had believed that was enough.
