*
After the middaymeal, James found Mrs. Ellsworth in the stillroom, her sleeves rolled to the elbows as she bound dried lavender into neat muslin sachets.
“Here you are with yet another task,” James said, pausing in the doorway. “You work too hard.”
She glanced up, her weathered face brightening. “Idle hands are the devil’s playground, as your dear mother was fond of saying.”
A genuine smile touched his lips as he entered, trailing his fingers along the worn wooden worktable. “Did she truly say that, or have you invented maternal wisdom to suit your purposes?”
“Every blessed morning as she tended the household accounts. Shehad such a way of making even the most tedious tasks seem purposeful.” Mrs. Ellsworth’s expression grew tender. “You’ve inherited her heart and courage. She loved so deeply, especially you and Sebastian and Lord Ashford. She delighted in your every moment. I like to think she’s somewhere, watching how you’ve grown into an honorable man, despite what happened to you. I see your father in you, too. He was steady in a storm, as you are.”
James studied his hands as if seeing them anew, but his usual ease seemed forced today. The weight of the morning’s encounter in the garden pressed heavily on his shoulders.
Mrs. Ellsworth set down her work, studying him with keen eyes. “What troubles you, my lord? You’ve the look of a man wrestling with his demons.”
He settled into the chair opposite her, suddenly feeling less like the master of the house than the boy who used to steal warm biscuits from this very room. For a long moment, he said nothing, then released a heavy sigh.
“I’ve made a fool of myself, I’m afraid.”
“How so?”
“With Mrs. Fairfax.” The name left his lips like a confession. “I’ve developed feelings for her. Quite strong ones, actually.” He ran a hand through his hair, disturbing its careful arrangement. “This morning I attempted to speak to her about what happened between us last evening, but before I could properly explain myself, she received some sort of urgent letter that clearly distressed her. She fled before I could clarify my intentions, and now I fear she still believes I was suggesting something improper.”
Mrs. Ellsworth resumed her work, fingers deft with long practice, but her expression remained thoughtful. “Did she, now?”
“I suspect she thinks my intentions are dishonorable. And perhaps she’s right to be wary. What right do I have to pursue her? She deserves a man unmarked by scandal, someone who can offer her afuture unclouded by the past. A man who is whole, instead of broken into a thousand pieces.”
Mrs. Ellsworth’s hands stilled on the sachets, and she fixed him with a look that had seen through his excuses since boyhood. “Are you sure you’re interpreting her correctly?”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean that girl looks at you the way a drowning woman looks at a lifeline—with equal parts longing and terror.” Her voice carried the warmth of a lifetime spent dispensing both remedies and counsel. “Mrs. Fairfax isn’t indifferent to you, my lord. She’s frightened.”
“Frightened? Of what?”
“Of hoping for something she believes she cannot have. Of caring for someone who might disappear from her life as others have done.” Mrs. Ellsworth leaned forward slightly. “That young woman has been hurt by everyone in her life except for sweet Cecily. She is protecting herself, perhaps believing what you seem to believe.”
“And what’s that?”
“That you’re incapable of loving anyone as she wants to be loved because of what you endured as a child.”
James traced a crack in the old oak table, considering her words. “Even if that were true, what am I to do? I can hardly pursue a woman who flees every time we attempt a serious conversation.”
“You tell her the truth. All of it.” Her eyes found his with pointed meaning. “Not just that you desire her company or find her pleasing, but that you’ve fallen in love with her. That your intentions are honorable and permanent. You must let her know you’re not some passing fancy or temporary amusement.”
His throat constricted. “And if she still rejects me?”
“Then at least you’ll know where you stand, and she’ll know exactly what she’s choosing to refuse.” Mrs. Ellsworth reached across the table, her work-roughened hands covering his. “But I’ve seen the way she watches you when she thinks no one is looking. I’ve seen how shesoftens in your presence, how she fights her own inclinations. That’s not indifference, my lord. That’s a woman at war with herself.”
The stillroom grew quiet save for the soft rustle of dried herbs and the distant sound of voices from the kitchen yard. James watched dust motes dance in the slanted light, feeling something loosening in his chest.
“You truly believe she might… care for me?”
“I believe she already does. The question is whether she’ll allow herself to act on those feelings.” Her voice gentled. “Give her the choice, Lord Ashford. Tell her your heart completely, and then let her decide. But don’t make that decision for her by retreating before the battle is even fought.”
James nodded slowly, his spirits lifting incrementally. Rising from his chair, he moved toward the door, then paused on the threshold.
“Mrs. Ellsworth?”
