"It does when it creates complications."
Lillian considered this. They had reached the edge of the formal grounds now, and the path was narrowing, leading them into a stretch of woodland where the trees grew close together and the light filtered through the canopy in dappled patterns of gold and shadow.
"May I ask you something, Your Grace?"
"You may ask. I cannot guarantee an answer."
"Do you regret it? Being honest with me?"
The question hung in the air between them, fragile and dangerous. Lillian watched his profile; the strong line of his jaw, the furrow between his brows, the way his hands tightened almost imperceptibly on the reins.
"No," he said finally. "That is the problem. I should regret it. Every principle I have lived by tells me I should. But I find that I do not."
"Then why apologise?"
"Because I do not know what comes next. Because I have no experience with….With whatever this is. Because I am, as I believe I mentioned yesterday, terrified of allowing myself to feel things, and you seem to have a talent for making me feel them anyway."
The confession was delivered in his usual clipped, controlled tone, but Lillian heard the vulnerability beneath the words. He was not simply speaking of attraction, she realized. He was speaking of something deeper, something that threatened the very foundations of the life he had built for himself.
"For what it is worth," she said quietly, "I am rather terrified as well."
He looked at her then and something passed between them that required no words. An acknowledgment, a recognition. The understanding that they were both standing on the edge of something vast and unknown, and that neither of them was certain whether to step forward or to flee.
"Perhaps," Daniel said slowly, "we might simply ride. For now. Without expectations or apologies or the need to define what this is."
"That sounds remarkably sensible."
"I have occasional moments of sense. They tend to occur when I am on horseback. Something about the rhythm, I suspect."
Lillian laughed; a genuine laugh, that was brought by the unexpected glimpse of humor beneath his severity. Daniel's expression flickered, and this time the smile that crossed his features was real and unguarded, transforming his face into something softer, warmer, infinitely more approachable.
"You should do that more often," Lillian said.
"Ride horses?"
"Smile."
The smile faded, but something of its warmth remained in his eyes. "I shall endeavour to practise."
They rode deeper into the estate, and as they rode, they talked.
It began, as such conversations often do, with safe topics. Lillian asked about the land they were passing through, and Daniel explained about the history of the property, the changes that had been made over generations, the improvements he had implemented since assuming the title. He spoke of drainage and crop rotation and the challenges of managing tenant relations, and Lillian listened with genuine interest.
"You sound as though you truly enjoy it," she observed, as they crested a small hill and paused to take in the view; a sweep of golden fields and dark woodland stretching toward the horizon. "The management of the estate, I mean."
"Enjoy might be too strong a word." Daniel shifted in his saddle, his gaze fixed on the distant landscape. "But there is satisfaction in it. In seeing a plan come to fruition. In knowing that the decisions I make will affect not only my own comfort but the life of everyone who depends on this land."
"That is a heavy responsibility."
"It is. But it is also..." He paused, searching for words. "A purpose. Something concrete. Measurable. I can look at a field that was failing five years ago and see it thriving now, and I can know that I contributed to that transformation. There is a certain comfort in the tangible."
"As opposed to the intangible?"
"Precisely. Emotions are not tangible. They cannot be measured or managed or improved through systematic intervention. They simply happen, whether one wishes them to or not. I find that deeply unsettling."
Lillian considered this, turning the observation over in her mind like a stone examined for hidden facets.
"And yet emotions are what give meaning to all the rest," she said. "A thriving field is simply a thriving field, unless one has feelings about it; pride in the achievement, hope for the future, connection to the people who will benefit. Without emotion, your accomplishments would be merely facts. Statistics in a ledger."
