“I… I thought I did.”
Miss Lockhart bit her lip. Tears welled in her eyes.
“You don’t understand what really matters to me. Maybe no one ever will.”
Her words rang in his ears. He had heard them before. They were almost Ellena’s exact words. The same accusation. The same shock to his very core.
How had it come to this? How had he made the same mistake twice? Every time he sought a deeper connection, everything fell apart.
“Verity,” came the surprisingly quiet voice of Mrs. Lockhart, “I think you are judging Mr. Cole rather harshly. He has hardly had a chance to know you at all, and I’m sure that…”
Miss Lockhart stood abruptly, placing the controversial gift firmly on the chair as a clear rejection.
“Please excuse me,” she said. “I do not feel well.”
Before her parents could protest, she fled the room, a stifled sob audible as she reached the staircase.
Mrs. Lockhart wrinkled her brow, her hands clasped tightly together. But no words came.
Her husband rubbed his hand across his face and huffed out a deep breath. “I apologize for our daughter, Mr. Cole. She is more passionate than most people realize. But that does not excuse her behavior here today. I assure you it will not happen again.”
But William did not want his assurances. He did not care for any of this. He had never desired Miss Verity Lockhart in the first place. She was just as much trouble as Ellena, with just as little reward for his efforts.
He should never have let his father bully him into considering this match, this family. He had known what he wanted, and this had certainly not been it. But he had tried. His father could not say he hadn’t kept his promise. And she had rejected him.
Well, perhaps now his father would finally hear him. It was good riddance to Miss Verity Lockhart, and welcome to his life as a soldier. Maybe she had even done him a favor.
He became aware that Mrs. Lockhart was staring at him. It was not a particularly friendly stare. She seemed to be making up her mind about something.
“Mr. Cole,” she said eventually, “I know that Verity’s ideas can be challenging. I also believe that the right person could meet that challenge. It would be a pity to give up before one has truly started.”
Was she judging him? William’s chest swelled with indignation. Of all the nerve! It was her daughter who was making things difficult. Miss Lockhart was clearly disinterested in him. If she liked him at all, she would have loved his gift, appreciated his effort. Why should he pursue her like some lovesick puppy, only to have her kick at him in her own misery?
He had thought they had something in common. Enough to explore a future together. But she was a self-absorbed child. And her parents indulged her. She was not for him.
He stood and bowed to them. A final civility.
“I think it is best if I were on my way. My presence here only causes discomfort.”
“Not at all, my good fellow!” exclaimed the vicar. “You are most welcome in our home. Verity’s reaction was unfortunate, I’ll admit, but she would not wish you away. Young women will have their little moods. It will pass.”
Mrs. Lockhart did not look at her husband. Her silence condemned him.
That was where their daughter had gotten her stubbornness from. William could see it now. The last thing he wanted was a wife like Mrs. Lockhart—all bluster and opinion.
“Thank you, sir,” he replied with some pity for his host, “but I will take my leave. It would be easier for Miss Lockhart to settle without my presence to frustrate her.”
“You must do as you see fit,” Mrs. Lockhart said primly before her husband could interject. “Please send our regards to your parents.”
“Gladly,” he replied without an ounce of gladness.
William collected his hat and coat from the entrance. He was seen to the door by both Lockharts—a strained farewell. Dissatisfied muttering echoed after him as he strode down the path to the gate. He did not look back. He would never look back. The Lockharts had seen the last of him.
A bee buzzed about his head as he mounted his horse. He waved it away with his hat. No more need to pretend an interest in miscellaneous flying things. No more need to woo a strange, pale slip of a girl.
And yet he felt strangely empty without her blue eyes looking into his soul. She had seen what was there—and not run.
Not until today.
She had seemed so lost, and he had not known how to reach her…
He shook himself mentally. No, no, no. He was better off without her. She was too much work. What he needed was a simple life: a uniform, a horse, a sword.
His father would just have to understand.
