“Then stop treating me like one.”
The words were not sharp. They were precise. He inhaled slowly.
“Margaret–”
She lifted her hand slightly.
“I do not want apologies.”
He stopped speaking.
“I want your presence,” she said.
He stared at her as though in utter disbelief.
“I rise each morning and do my duty,” she continued. “I learn the accounts. I meet with the staff. I represent this house with care. I believed that was what you required.”
“It is,” he said.
“And yet,” she replied, “each evening I dine alone in spirit.”
His gaze sharpened.
“I am not asking for declarations,” she said. “I am asking for you to remain in the room.”
He was very still now.
“You leave before dawn,” she continued. “You return long after dark. When we speak, it is efficient. You thank me as though I am an employee.”
His voice lowered.
“That is not how I see you.”
“Then show me how you see me.”
The quiet conviction in her tone seemed to strike him harder than anger would have. He took a step toward her, not enough to crowd, but enough to close some of the space he so carefully preserved.
“I believed I was honoring what you wanted,” he said.
“You believed incorrectly.”
Another silence.
“You told me you expected nothing more than respect,” he said.
“I did.”
“And I have given you that.”
“Yes.”
“Then what has changed?”
“I have,” she answered. “I did not anticipate what this would feel like. I did not anticipate how large this house would become at night.”
He looked at her as though seeing something he had misjudged.
“You think I withdraw because I do not value you,” he said. “Is that it!”
