“Yes.” She sighed. “For other people’s commonsense opinions cannot guarantee my happiness. I need to think with my heart as well as my head. But why are we standing out here getting colder when we are very close to the summerhouse? It traps warm air, as you know, and is probably several degrees warmer than it is out here. There will be no lemonade awaiting us today, though.”
“And no cakes either?” He frowned at her.
She laughed. “And no cakes.”
He tightened his arm about her shoulders and led her toward the summerhouse. They settled side by side this time on the long sofa after he had closed the door behind them. So it seemed she was not going to marry her London beau even though she had been tempted? It was probably one of the decisions she had come home to think through. And then she had renewed her friendship with a man who was unsuitable for her in almost every imaginable way, thus further complicating her life.
“Your heart and good sense have not agreed with each other upon the right course for you to take?” he asked her.
“About marrying Lord Keilly?” she said. “Assuming he intended to ask me, that is? Alas, no. But I really was tempted. I have been horribly envious of George and Kitty, you see. They are very happy with each other. They both look ten years younger than they did a year ago, I swear. I have never been jealous of them, I hasten to add. Only envious. They have something I realize I would like for myself.Not necessarily marriage, though. I have understood that since I came home. Just…Oh, how do I express it? Just…renewed life. Something to make the world seem new again and fresh again and full of possibilities once more. In fact, I believe I definitely do not want to marry again. Not yet anyway, and never unless I am convinced it is the only thing that can fulfill all my yearnings.”
He settled her head against his shoulder and held it there with one hand while he kissed her forehead.
“Hence our friendship,” he said. “And ignoring the warnings and advice of all your friends—I assume that was the reason for the call the three ladies paid you this morning.”
“They are very dear,” she said. “And really quite tolerant. But they are concerned. Because they care about me. I appreciate that. But I must live my own life. Every day I become more firmly decided upon that. Have you had any such visits?”
“Not quite,” he said, and chuckled. He told her about his experience at the village shop. “But like you, Clarissa, I live my own life my way.”
“It is not entirely easy to do, is it?” she said.
“When you attended your mother’s birthday party,” he said, changing the subject, “did you talk about me at all?”
“No.” She turned her head to look at him in some surprise. “Well, actually yes, very briefly. Your nephew asked if I knew you and I told him that yes, I do. I told him you are the carpenter at Boscombe and that we were close friends as children. I daresay he knew that first fact already, and apparently Reginald had told him about our childhood friendship. Mr. Philip Taylor told me he would like to meet you. But his wife reminded him that her father-in-law would probably disapprove.”
“He is coming to call on me next week,” Matthew said. “Mynephew, that is. He wrote to ask if he might, and I gave him the definite date of next Tuesday.”
She gazed into his face. “How do you feel about that?” she asked.
He shrugged. “I could hardly say no,” he said. “I have never had any quarrel with the boy. Man. He is over thirty. It is hard to believe.”
“Yes,” she said. “You have never reached out to your brother? Or he to you?”
“No,” he said.
“Was there a definite quarrel between you?” she asked him. “Something neither of you could forgive, that is?”
“No,” he said. “I left without a word to anyone after we buried Poppy and Helena. When I returned, I came straight here.”
“I beg your pardon.” She sighed. “This is none of my business. I told myself I would never ask.”
“You did not ask,” he said. “I told you that my nephew is coming to call.”
“Yes, you did,” she said, and sighed again.
“Change is happening,” he said, resting his cheek against the top of her head. “I hoped it never would. I have been happy here just as I am for more than twenty years. Well, contented anyway, which is often more desirable than active happiness. I would have been grateful for twenty more such years. But there are those phases of life you spoke of, those changes that press themselves upon us whether we want them or not, and there is no point in fighting against them. We must simply discover where they will lead and which ones will become permanent features of our lives and which will pass on through.”
“And I have forced some of these changes upon you,” she said.“I invited you to drink coffee with me one morning, and I suggested that we be friends again, at least for the summer. Possibly I am responsible for another change too. If I had gone to see my mother the day before her birthday or the day after, I would not have seen your nephew and perhaps put the thought of calling on you into his head.”
“Even if we were total hermits, Clarissa, we would not be immune to change,” he said. “It happens. It is what life is about. But we are not hermits.”
“I feel responsible anyway,” she said. “I am sorry for upsetting your life.”
“In truth,” he said, “I am glad you invited me to stay for coffee that morning, and I am glad I said yes. Those biscuits were delicious.”
She laughed. “You ate only one.”
“The power of self-control,” he said. “And I believe I am glad my nephew is coming.”
