“It was kind to stay away from her party?” he asked.
She gazed at him, her chin in her hand again. The food on her plate had hardly been touched, he noticed. She sighed.
“What you need,” she said, “is a dragon to slay.”
He chuckled. “And a helpless maiden to rescue?”
“Tell me your dreams,” she said.
“Those bizarre wisps of things that flit through my head when I am asleep?” he asked, grinning at her.
But she did not smile back. She would not allow him to make light of the question.
“Yourdreams,” she said.
He pushed his plate away from him and thought for a few moments.
“They are not grand things at all,” he said. “I dream of tramping about my own land with a stout staff in my hand and dogs panting at my heels. I dream of knowing the land from the inside out, working it, knowing the feel of its soil between my fingers, the thrill of seeing crops I have helped plant poke green and fragile above the earth. I dream of knowing my workers and their families, of knowingtheirdreams and working with them to bring harmony to all our lives and aspirations. I dream of being master of my own home and my own life at last. I dream of knowing my neighbors in such a way that I can drop in on them at any time of the day or evening or they can feel free to drop in on me without any discomfort. I dream of a time when beingViscount Whitleafdoes not set me apart from most other mortals who live in the vicinity of my home. There—is that enough?”
“Yes,” she said, smiling. “I am glad you convinced me that we could be friends. I am glad to have known you. I like you.”
He felt strangely touched by her words.
“Well, now.” He laughed softly. “That is praise indeed. Miss Susanna Osbournelikesme.”
She sat back in her chair and lowered her hands to her lap.
“I wasnotbeing sarcastic,” he told her. “I have always assumed that most people of my acquaintance like me—I do not believe I am a difficult fellow to get along with. But I do not recall anyone’s actually saying so. The words coming from you warm my heart—that pumping organ in my chest.”
Her smile held genuine amusement this time.
“Tell meyourdreams,” he said.
She looked instantly wistful.
“Oh,” she said, “I have no dreams, really. I am contented with what I have.”
“If that is true,” he told her, “it is the saddest thing I have heard in a long while. We all need dreams. But I do not believe that you have none. I can see from your eyes that you have plenty.”
“From my eyes?” She looked suddenly wary. “Eyes cannot speak.”
“There you are wrong, Miss Literalist,” he said. “Eyes can be very eloquent indeed, yours more than most. Tell me your dreams. I have told you mine, and we are friends, are we not? I am not likely to shout with derision or stand on my chair to announce your secret dreams to the whole company.”
“They are as humble as yours,” she said, smiling again. “A home of my own. I lived in someone else’s house for my first twelve years and since then I have lived at the school in Bath. I dream of a home of my own in a place like this, where there are neighbors and friends. It does not have to be large. A cottage would suffice. And a small garden where I could grow flowers and vegetables and create beauty and plenty around me. And…Oh, and my ultimate dream.”
She stopped and bit her lower lip. But she continued when he said nothing.
“A husband and a few children, a family of my own to cherish and be loved by,” she said. “I do not dream of wealth or grandeur—only of love. There, youdidinsist. Those are my dreams.”
And they were indeed humble ones. No woman, he thought, should be denied her own home and family if she wished for them, and yet she believed they were impossible dreams for her.Werethey? She was beautiful beyond belief and sweet-natured. And yet where, apart from here, would she ever go to meet eligible men? Perhaps he could…
But no. He could not. He certainly could not. There was no point in beginning to plot or scheme. Besides…Well, besides nothing.
Both their cups of tea, he noticed suddenly, had a grayish film of coldness covering the surface. Both their plates were still almost full of food.
“Let me get you a fresh cup of tea,” he suggested.
But her face showed surprise when she looked beyond him and, glancing over his shoulder, he could see that they were alone. Sounds of music and merriment were coming from the main room. The final set of the evening was already in progress.
