"The freedom?" Lillian echoed.
"Well, not freedom precisely." He smiled, as though at a minor correction. "I would of course make the final decisions on matters of significance. But I would value your input tremendously. You could assist with the household accounts, advise on domestic matters, perhaps even help select which tenants to favour with new leases." He squeezed her hands. "It would be a true partnership, Lillian. Within appropriate bounds, of course."
Within appropriate bounds.
Lillian felt something shift inside her; the final piece of a puzzle she had been assembling without realizing it.
Edward did not want a partner. He wanted anassistant. A capable woman who would manage his household, offer suggestions he could adopt or ignore as he saw fit, and defer to his judgment on anything that actually mattered.
He had seemed so different when they first met. He had listened to her ideas, engaged with her arguments, treated her as an intellectual equal. But that, she now understood, was courtship. Private flattery designed to secure her interest.
Once they were married, it would be different. She would "assist" and "advise" and "help," always one step removed from actual authority, always dependent on his willingness to listen. Her ideas would become his ideas, just as they had at that dinner gathering. Her voice would be heard only when he chose to amplify it.
She thought of Daniel, impossible, infuriating, terrified Daniel, who had argued with her as though her opinions were worthy of combat. Who had never once suggested that her role was toassisthim. Who had looked at her with something like awe and called her remarkable.
Remarkable.Not useful. Not capable. Remarkable.
"Lillian?" Edward's voice broke through her thoughts. "You have not answered. Will you…..That is, may I hope..."
"I cannot give you an answer now." The words emerged steadier than she felt. "This is too important a decision to make hastily."
His expression flickered; surprise, perhaps, or the first hint of displeasure.
"I had thought…. I believed my intentions were clear. I did not expect you to require additional time."
"Nevertheless, I require it." Lillian withdrew her hands from his grip. "You have paid me a great compliment, Edward. But marriage is not a decision I can make in a rose garden on a sunny afternoon. I must think carefully before I commit my future to anyone."
"Of course. I did not mean to rush you." But there was something in his tone now, a slight edge, a hint of wounded pride, that had not been there before. "Take whatever time you need. I will await your answer with patience."
They walked back to the main gathering in silence, and Lillian felt the weight of his expectation pressing down upon her like a physical burden.
She had time. But she did not know how much or whether it would be enough to understand what she truly wanted.
***
That night, Lillian could not sleep.
She lay in the darkness, listening to Rosanne's steady breathing from the other bed, and tried to make sense of the chaos in her heart.
Edward was offering her everything she had once thought she wanted; security, stability, a comfortable life with a man who seemed to value her intelligence. It was more than most women in her position could hope for. It was, by any reasonable measure, a good match.
Butwithin appropriate boundsechoed in her mind, and she could not silence it.
She thought about what marriage to Edward would mean. She would have a role, an important role even, but it would always be secondary. She would advise, but not decide. Suggest, but not act. Her capabilities would be useful, but they would never behers. They would be tools in service of his ambitions, filtered through his judgment, subject to his approval.
And then she thought about Daniel.
She had spent days trying not to think about him. Trying to convince herself that his rejection was final, that there was no point in hoping, that she must move forward with her life regardless of the wound he had left in her heart.
But lying in the darkness, with Edward's proposal hanging over her like a sword, she could not pretend any longer.
She still loved him. Despite everything, despite the coldness, the retreat, the morning room where he had looked at her as though she were nothing, she still loved him.
Not because he was easy. He was the opposite of easy. He was complicated and wounded and infuriating and afraid.
But he had never, not once, suggested that her role was toassisthim. He had never claimed her ideas as his own or dismissed her opinions as unfeminine. He had argued with her, challenged her, pushed back against her conclusions with the fervor of someone who took her seriously.
He had seen her as an equal. Even when he was running from her, even when he was building walls to keep her out, he had seen her as an equal.
