Mmmm.
“What is so heavy in your life that you require assistance to catch it?” he continued, words flowing better now. “Isn’t your life unencumbered? Is that not the goal of every gentleman? To shelter and support the women in his life? To ensure that they never know such heaviness?”
Lottie’s heart lurched.
She found her eyes lingering on his finger still tracing the wood grain, close but never touching her hand. Her own fingers tingled with each pass of his, so near and yet . . .
Abruptly it was a metaphor for herself and Alex—close but nevertogether.
She swallowed, dragging her gaze off their hands and back to his face. “I would counter and ask—why must I be so sheltered from life? If we are dredging up the remains of past discussions, let us return to Wollstonecraft. Men feel lonely in marriage—that they lack a true partner—becauseof this societal wish to keep women innocent.”
“Innocent?” His brows drew down. His finger stilled. “I’m not sure I follow.”
“Well, that is the result of sheltering a young lady, is it not? A sheltered woman is an innocent one. Truthfully, it is the stupidest thing.”
He laughed, a startled sound.
“You may laugh,” she continued, “but you know I speak truth. Why must women remain innocent? What are men afraid of? That once a woman knows better—once she experiences even a bit of the world—she won’t want a life with the man in question? And, if that truly were the case, then what does that say about . . . well,everything?”
“I see your point. I suppose such sheltering goes back to the antiquated idea that women are less capable of dealing with the sheer ugliness of life.”
Lottie leaned into the back of her chair, her fingers now drumming the table beside his, expression likely as indignant as she felt. “You and I both know that is simply preposterous.”
“It is.”
“Men go off and have grand adventures—like yourself with your overseas voyage—and then come home and expect to marry a woman who has never done anything, either with her brainorher life. But such a marriage is hopelessly imbalanced—he has lived too much of life and she . . . not enough. So as a result, both parties end up unhappy and betrayed. I have seen it too often in aristocratic marriages.”
“Your parents, as well?”
“I cannot say on that account,” Lottie said. “My mother died when I was too young. But my father never remarried, so that speaks to his devotion to my mother. I do vaguely remember my grandparents’ marriage, however, as my grandfather died when I was eight. Theirs was a marriage of equals. Grandfather was always delighted to be in Grandmère’s company, even after thirty years of marriage. Which, of course, merely proves my point. Grandmère is a well-educated, erudite, and sophisticated woman of the world.”
“Ye would like such a marriage?” He had gone back to idly tracing the wood grain again.
“Yes. Yes, I would like that very much.” She looked as his finger circling her hand. “So, you will eat a fairy cake with me tomorrow then?”
“Perhaps.”
He paused and then ever so softly pressed a fingertip into the back of her hand where it lay on the tabletop.
It burned her skin.
Lottie forgot how to breathe.
“But in true philosopher form,” he continued, “ye still haven’t answered my question—why is life heavy for you?”
The room settled into quiet, as if everything awaited her answer.
His finger drew a slow line down the back of her hand. Was he now tracing the blue of her veins?
She forced her eyes to remain on his face and not the sensation scattered up her arm.
“I suppose . . .” She licked her lips. “I suppose I never understood the weight of my words until someone truly listened to them.”
She did not add a second truth to her statement—
That she had been falling, falling, falling for the past two years. Losing Anne and Gabriel and Papa had sent her tumbling headlong into a vast chasm.
But then this man had appeared. And he heard her.
