“Charles, I—” Searching for an excuse not to be alone with him, she glanced at the window. “It’s snowing.”
His eyes crinkled as he smiled. “That hasn’t stopped you before.”
The arch. That walk when he had kissed her for the first time. Her stomach turned over, hard.
“I don’t think it’s a good idea,” she whispered.
His expression changed infinitesimally. “Please, Pidge. It’s important. Wait for me.”
She had waited for so many years.
But perhaps this was for the best. If they had a chance to speak alone, she could tell him that they should keep their distance once he was engaged, and they would have all the unpleasantness over with before she even met with his mother.
“Very well,” she said. “I’ll wait here. Don’t be long.”
“Thank you.” He brought her hand to his lips briefly, the kiss travelling down her arm to pierce her heart, and turned to her father. “Come, sir. Let me show you to your room.” He took the older man’s elbow with such a light touch that her father would not feel his dignity had been much compromised.
Evelyn watched the way Charles guided her father up the stairs, head bent as they conversed in low tones. Of course she had always loved him—he had never given her a choice. He cared for the person she loved most in the world as though he were his own father. What else was she to do?
Charles did not take long, and a smile of relief crossed his face when he found her still standing in the entryway, waiting for him. A footman had brought her a glass of lemonade, and she sipped at it, trying to control the dread that moved through her body at the thought, not only of having to hear whatever Charles had to say to her, but then to present herself to his future wife.
This was a mistake. She should never have come.
“What is that face for?” he asked when he came to tuck her hand in his arm.
“You should never have invited me here,” she said. “Charles, I—”
“I know. But give me a chance to redeem myself. I will, I swear it.” He led her to the door. “Outside, you see, we can have no chance of being overheard. We will be totally alone.”
“You make that sound as though that’s preferable.”
“For this, it is.” He looked at her with patient compassion in his eyes. “I know I’ve made mistakes, my darling. Will you come with me? I’ll explain everything.”
Reluctantly, she allowed him to tuck her hand firmly against his side and lead her outside. A soft layer of snow covered the gravel, muffling their footsteps. The world was a different place in winter, the lines harsh and crisp. The chill in the air made her lungs burn.
“Remember when we used to have snowball fights?” he asked as he led her through an ice-crusted gate to a lavender garden, although the small shrubby plants were clipped back and draped with snow. More flakes drifted from the sky above, melting on her lips, catching on her eyelashes.
“I remember,” she said.
“Does it ever strike you as a shame that we are so much older now?” He blew out a long breath. “Sometimes I wish I could go back and shake my younger self.”
“Was he so bad?”
He directed a wry look at her. “He was a cad and a rake.”
“Traits you claim to have not outgrown,” she pointed out.
“I believe I may finally have done.” He snapped off a twig and crouched, scrawling her name in the snow. The dark paving slab gleamed wetly underneath. “My father said a man eventually comes to a crossroads and he must choose his path.” From where he still crouched, he looked up at her. “I have made my choice, Evelyn.”
Her chest pinched. She pressed her hands under her elbows, suddenly relieved they were alone in a walled garden, hidden from the house. “What are you saying?”
“Lady Rosamund and her mother are not here. In fact, there are only a handful of guests.”
“I—”
“You once told me that you would not have me, even if I asked. Does that still hold true?”
She felt as though he had punched her in the stomach. She had no breath left. Her fingers clenched compulsively. “To marry?”
