Clara frowned, worried. “Did he do something? Has he upset you?”
Eden shook her head, but the movement was not convincing. “Not precisely. It is only that…last night…” She broke off, the memory of his mouth on hers rushing back so suddenly that she flushed deep at the collar. Her hands twisted in her lap.
Alice’s eyes grew wide, incredulous and delighted. “Eden Thornton! Are you confessing a tryst?”
Clara hushed her, but there was no mockery in her tone, only honest concern. “What happened?”
Eden looked down at her hands. It was unspeakable, and yet she could not bear the silence any longer. “During the ball, in the maze, he… Well, he kissed me. And I kissed him back. It was not a mistake, not then, but just a moment ago, he would not even look at me.” She shut her eyes, breath trembling. “I thought it might mean something to him. But now… I think it must have been a mistake for him.”
Alice leaned forward, the mischief gone from her voice. “Men are fools, Eden. Perhaps he fears your brother, or thinks you to fine for him. They often mistake pride for principle.” She grinned suddenly. “Or perhaps he is simply a terrible coward.”
Eden smiled, but the hurt did not ease. “It did not feel like cowardice.”
Clara reached for her hand, squeezing it gently. “He has been away so long. People change. Perhaps he is not ready to—” She broke off delicately, unwilling to say the words aloud.
“To love?” Eden finished for her, softly. “Perhaps not.”
The three of them sat in a hush, broken only by the slow tick of the clock and the faint shouts of boys from the distant cricket pitch. Eden forced herself to sip her tea, but the flavor was flat and unappealing.
Alice broke the silence with her usual tactlessness. “And what of Mr. Price? I heard from two sources that your mother is already planning the engagement.”
Eden’s pulse jumped unpleasantly. “Mr. Price is kind,” she said. “But I cannot think of marrying him, not when—” She faltered. “Not when I feel as I do.”
Clara looked at her with the patient gravity of a confessor. “Is it love, then?”
Eden stared into her cup. “If it is not, I do not wish to find out what is.”
Alice made a face, but her voice was gentle. “You have always been headstrong, Eden, but I never thought you foolish.”
“I do feel foolish,” Eden admitted. “I thought that by wanting something so much, it might make it possible. But I see now I was only making myself ridiculous.”
Clara shook her head. “No. You are not ridiculous. You are brave. It is no small thing to wish for something for yourself.”
Eden wanted to laugh, or weep, or both. “It does not feel like bravery. It feels like an error I cannot undo.”
The conversation drifted, turning to harmless gossip about the fête and the latest scandal in London. But Eden was only half-present, her mind turning over Gabriel’s absence. The way he had not even looked at her. The way he had left without a word.
Later, when Clara and Alice excused themselves and the house grew quieter, Eden wandered the length of the garden paths alone, letting the heat of the sun settle into her bones. She tried to reconstruct the moment in the maze, to find the part where it had all gone wrong. But she could not. The kiss had been the truest thing she had ever known. There was no shame in it, only the knowledge that it was, for Gabriel, an impossibility.
She sat on the low stone wall that bordered the rose beds and stared at the horizon until her vision blurred. The air was thick with the scent of flowers, and the distant cry of a lark floated overhead. She imagined Gabriel riding away and wondered if he felt the weight of her longing with every stride.
She wished she could hate him for it. She wished she could be angry, or proud, or even resigned. Instead, her heart felt raw and unprotected, a wound that would not close.
It was a relief, in the end, to be alone with it.
She sat in the garden until the sun began its slow, gilded descent, her thoughts looping endlessly between hope and despair. She did not know if she would see Gabriel again, or if he would ever risk another word with her. But she knew, with a clarity that shocked her, that she did not want to forget him. Not even if it hurt.
She walked back to the house slowly. The day was nearly over. She did not look back.
Inside, the lamps were already being lit, and somewhere in the upper rooms, her mother was instructing a servant on tomorrow’s dinner. Eden moved through the rooms quietly, unnoticed, a ghost in her own home.
She paused in the hallway, listening to the muffled voices above, and thought of Gabriel—how he, too, once haunted these halls, younger and surer, before the world had made him careful. She envied him that. She envied even his ability to leave.
In her own small way, she was just as lost. But she knew, at least, the direction of her longing.
She would keep it close, a secret and a promise, braver now than she had ever been. No longer the girl who watched from the shadows, Eden carried her longing like a banner—quiet but unyielding, the defiance of a heart unwilling to forget. If the world would not give her what she wanted, she would want it anyway, with all her stubborn heart.
And perhaps, someday, it would be enough.
