“Yes, but I am not a tyrant. What if they charge the castle with pitchforks and torches? What then? It was never my goal to bend them to my will.”
Willow chuckled and shook her head.
“Perhaps it won’t be as bad as all that,” he said, “but can you see my dilemma? I may be forced to choose between what I feel is best and what the tenant families truly want. If I cannot peacefully enforce the mine closures, I may well lose Caldera to my uncle. He would like nothing more. I’m convinced the mines are not safe, but I am the only one, I’m afraid.”
I believe the mines are unsafe.The thought emerged fully formed in Willow’s brain, but she said nothing. They were veering dangerously close to having a real conversation. He had revealed his own struggles, just as she had. Most impossibly of all,he was still here.
She had abandoned the chair to listen, but now she resumed pushing. One of the legs caught on an uneven tile, and she put her shoulder to it and shoved. He came beside her and lifted it.
“Where?” he asked.
She pointed adjacent to the chaise. It was a heavy chair, with fat mahogany legs and a sculptural frame. He set it down as if it weighed nothing. She adjusted the angle.
“Why put the chairs in the center of the room?” he asked.
“It matters less where the seating is placed and more how it is situated. Chairs should face each other to cultivate conversation. But, since you asked, the reason I’ve put them here is . . . ”
She took a step back and pointed upward, directly above their heads. Cassin followed her gaze, leaning back to look at the ceiling.
And there it was, the centerpiece of the room. A domed ceiling, painted with an ornate mural in pinks, purples, and greens. Vines and tendrils of lush vegetation encroached on a sky of cerulean blue. Sumptuous blooms made up the lively border.
The earl blinked, took two steps back, and looked at it from a different spot. “It’s beautiful,” he said, straining his neck. “But how did it—”
“I commissioned it,” Willow said proudly. “It was stained oak before, which was fine enough, I suppose, but unremarkable. I am of the belief that every room, no matter how small, should have one sort of dazzling element. I’d seen a domed mural ceiling in a design quarterly years ago, and I’ve always longed to recreate it. The sketch in the quarterly was of the night sky, but I intend this room for daytime use, so I conceived of the garden theme. After plastering over the old wood, I hired an artist to bring the mural to life.”
She watched his face as he studied it. “Here,” she said, patting the back of the chaise, “sit here and lean your head back. From this position, you can really appreciate it.”
He did not hesitate, and her heart seized at his enthusiasm.
“I’ve never seen anything quite like it,” he said.
He reclined on the chaise, lying down completely, and she cast a furtive glance at his broad chest and long legs, now sprawled conveniently for her to see. She had the unhelpful thought that he was not quite like anything she’d ever seen.
“Is that an . . . insect?” he asked.
She sat down on the edge of the chaise to gaze up. “Oh, but can you see it? The moth? I asked the artist to include several. They are not easy to spot.”
“Where are the others?”
She leaned back and pointed. “There. Do you see the hydrangea? Look left from there.”
And just like that, she reclined on the chaise beside him. They lay side by side, staring up at the ceiling. She could feel the warmth of his body from her temple to her ankle. If she scooted over, even just a little, she would bump up against him. Her skirts had fallen across his boot. The puffed sleeve of her dress brushed the shoulder of his coat.
By some miracle, she managed to point out features of the mural in a calm, even tone. Her hand did not tremble. Her brain formed cohesive statements about flowers and foliage and light. All the while, her heart pounded in her ears, and her stomach thrummed with an unspecified energy.
She paused for a beat, trying to remember what she’d just said, and she heard him suck in a breath to speak. Her heart stopped.
“Lady Willow,” he began, “can I convince you to pull your advertisements from London?”
Can he what?She went very still.
“Seek out some other means of leaving Surrey and joining your aunt. Please. It is not my business, I know, but I cannot, in good conscience,notsuggest it. Your endeavor is foolhardy at best and unsafe at worst.”
There was no demand in his tone, no judgment. It was an entreaty.
Willow spoke to the mural above them. “If I did it only for myself,” she said, “then perhaps. But my friends are my priority now. I cannot discuss their situations, as I’ve said, but they cannot go without me because our home will be with my aunt. I must find them husbands. I must find husbands for us all. So, the answer is no.” She dropped her head to the side and looked at him. “I cannot stop searching for some man.”Although God save me from another man like you. “Somewhere there is a candidate willing to trade his name for my dowry.”
She blinked at the closeness of his ear and cheek. She saw the small lines at the corner of his eye, the thickness of his lashes.
