“You are not asking,” he said.
“It feels very much like it.”
“Well, you are not. I would not give to someone that I did not think was genuine.”
“You say it with such ease.”
“Because it is simple.”
“It is not simple to me.”
A breeze stirred the leaves overhead. Somewhere across the square a carriage door slammed. Nathaniel lowered his voice.
“Margaret.”
She met his eyes again, and they were wide. There was a certain intimacy in using her given name, and perhaps he should have asked permission first, but he wanted to prove his point that he saw her as more than whatever she thought she was.
“I would not place you in a position of obligation,” he assured her.
“You already have.”
The words were soft, not accusing. He felt the weight of them.
“Then allow me to clarify,” he said. “You owe me nothing beyond what we agreed.”
“And what precisely did we agree upon?”
“That I would court you openly, that I would see your family provided for, and that your sisters would not suffer for circumstances beyond their control.”
“And in return?”
“You would allow me your company.”
A faint warmth touched her expression.
“That is all?”
“For now.”
She looked away briefly, toward the path where children chased one another in wide circles.
“You make it sound harmless.”
“It is.”
“You cannot know that.”
“I can.”
“How?”
“Because I have no interest in harming you.”
She searched his face, as though measuring the sincerity there.
“And if the courtship ends?” she asked.
“It will not end abruptly.”
