“I would walk along the garden paths, pausing at every flower bed and ornamental tree, taking in which have flourished, which are languishing, and which have died. I should no doubt cry foolish tears over their loss. And feel just the slightest satisfaction that my absence has left some small mark on the place. Then, when no one was about I would find dear Buxley, our gardener, and see if he could, with every kindness and attention, save those suffering from neglect. And perhaps even coax the lost to return once again.”
She paused to toss the stick of driftwood into the sea. “But, as that is not a real possibility, I suppose my second choice would be to return to the home of my aunt and uncle in Hertfordshire. I have spent many happy hours in their company and would find much solace in doing so again. Of course, I doubt my uncle would see fit to have me out in society, but even confined to their home, I believe I should be happy. My aunt has the most comforting way about her. Everyone who meets her says so.”
Charlotte stopped and turned toward him, hand over her mouth. “Do forgive me! I have used a week’s worth of words on your poor ears.”
He grinned. “Think nothing of it.”
“I suppose it’s due to spending so little time in adult company.”
“I am happy to oblige.” They continued walking. “So—why not away to Hertfordshire, then?”
She sighed. “My father has forbidden my aunt and uncle to shelter me. So”—she straightened her shoulders—“I shall return to Crawley. I am sure I shall enjoy it.”
“You did enjoy your timehere—before recent conflicts, that is?”
“Yes indeed. I am sorry to leave such a beautiful place and such fine company.”
“I am happy to hear you say so. I had thought of a possible solution to your dilemma, if I may be so bold as to make a suggestion?”
“Of course.”
“I had thought that I might offer another alternative.”
“Yes?” She turned to look at him and they stopped walking.
“Yes. That is ... Please forgive my presumption. I realize we are not so well acquainted, but it did occur to me that you and I enjoy one another’s company.”
“Yes,” she agreed, but her brow began to wrinkle in growing confusion.
“As a physician, I have some means—not an overly grand income but sufficient, I believe, to offer you a comfortable living here.”
Her eyes lit, as if with pleasure, but, just as quickly, the hint of a smile evaporated and her mouth opened, then closed, then opened again.
“For a moment I thought you were offering me a post.” Her chuckle held no mirth.
He shifted on his feet and cleared his throat. “Well, in a manner of speaking ...”
“As a midwife. Or monthly nurse ...”
“Oh ...”
“I suppose I should be flattered. Or offended.”
He laughed nervously. “So, which is it to be?”
“Both, actually. I’m afraid you have rather stunned me.”
He found the blush in her cheeks charming. He asked timidly, “But you do not find the idea ... totally repugnant?”
She swallowed, looked at him and then away. “I do not findyourepugnant, Dr. Kendall. But the nature of the offer ... yes, I’m afraid I do.”
“Well,” he said, and looked down at his boots. He forced himself to swallow the sting of her rejection, relieved for her manner of delivering it, the concession to his person. “Then, do forgive me. It was not my intention to offend you, though I cannot say I am overly surprised at your response.”
An awkward silence ensued.
“I do not suppose there is any hope of your forgetting the former portion of this conversation and allowing me to begin anew?”
She smiled tentatively. “If you like.”
