“That is not what I asked.”
He did not evade her.
“If it were to end, your sisters would still have their gowns.”
She blinked.
“I do not rescind promises,” he added.
Her composure faltered slightly at that. He saw it; the shift in her breathing, the faint tightening of her fingers.
“You would continue?” she asked.
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because their futures should not hinge on mine.”
Silence settled between them, heavier than before. She looked at him differently now, just as he had wanted.
“You speak as though you have known uncertainty,” she said.
“I have known responsibility.”
“That is not the same.”
“It often feels similar.”
She almost smiled. He stepped a fraction closer, enough that their conversation no longer risked carrying.
“If you believe this too much too soon,” he said more gently, “then very well. Consider it an advance on what I already intend.”
“That is hardly comforting.”
“It was not meant to alarm you.”
“It does not,” she said quickly, then corrected herself. “Well, it does in a way. It unsettles me, I suppose.”
“Because you prefer control.”
“Yes.”
“That is unfortunate.”
“Why?”
“Because you are not the only one involved. A courtship involves two people, and I intend to assist you.”
“In a manner of your choosing.”
“In a manner that secures the outcome that benefits us both the most.”
She regarded him in silence. She was captivating, and he wondered briefly how she was not yet married. Of course, he quickly came to the conclusion that she had simply never been pleased enough by a gentleman.
“Do you regret it?” he asked suddenly.
“Regret what?”
