“But what of Miss Lockhart?”
William’s soaring relief came crashing to the ground at his mother’s question. Numb disappointment echoed in his voice.
“I had assumed you only recommended the match because she was the vicar’s daughter. Now that I am no longer entering the church… she is not… It’s just…” He drew a steadying breath. “I thought to look elsewhere for a match of my own choosing.”
“Why?” His mother’s brow pleated. “I thought you were getting along pleasantly enough.”
William hesitated. “I do not think that sufficient reason to propose marriage.”
“Then you do not have an understanding? She is not expecting to begin a formal courtship with you shortly?”
“Quite the opposite. Even if I asked, I do not think she would have me.”
Mr. Cole muttered from behind his wife, “Even this you have managed poorly. She has all but been offered to you on a plate.”
William stepped to the side so that he might address his father face-to-face.
“She is not the easy prize you might think. I did my best, whether you believe it or not. If she will not have me, what am I to do?”
His mother’s frown deepened. “And you are certain of this? You have spoken to her and she has made her feelings known to you? I must say, William, such premature actions are not proper. Not only should the subject of courtship not have come up, but how have you managed to speak so intimately to her? Surely, her parents have not allowed you to visit without appropriate supervision?”
There were no suitable answers to these questions, William knew. The conversation by the pond was a secret, at Miss Lockhart’s request. He was not about to betray her confidence. And the whole butterfly debacle was too painful to relive. Besides, his parents would tell him he was overreacting—anything to get him back in line with their expectations of him. No, he was not going to marry Miss Lockhart. And that was final.
“No, Mother,” he replied, “nothing happened to shame either of our families. In short, Miss Lockhart has had no enthusiasm for my visits. She is very studious and quiet. No doubt she senses in me the very same concerning traits Father has so frequently pointed out. There seems little purpose in pursuing someone who does not wish to be pursued.”
A sudden inspiration cheered him, and he spoke it aloud before stopping to think. “Perhaps I will find a wife in theAmericas. My military career might prove even more successful than hoped.”
At the mention of the war-ravaged continent, Mrs. Cole grew quiet once again. Her husband stood and placed his arm gently about her shoulder. She lifted her hand to touch his, leaning her head toward him. They stood for several moments, brows touching, in a cocoon of unspoken reassurance. Then Mr. Cole looked up at his son.
“It is no secret that we do not want this for you. We have always assumed our children would take after us and make choices that we see the wisdom of. We do not agree with the path you are treading, nor the future you seek for yourself.” He took a deep breath and released it heavily. “However, there is one thing you have failed to grasp. Despite the fact that our hopes and yours diverge on almost every point, we still only want your happiness. We worry that the course of action you have sought will ultimately cause you sorrow instead. But there comes a time when one must release the reins of parenthood and pray the horse does not break his leg.”
His face grew flushed. William was amazed to see a film of tears form in his father’s eyes. He watched in confusion as the man—who had only ever shown restraint and composure—now fought to control the tremor in his voice.
“It is essential—especially with you heading into the jaws of danger—that you fully understand your worth to us. You seem convinced we prize one son over the other. This is simply not true. You are not alike, certainly. But that is a matter of personality, not value. We love you equally, William. However, we do worry for you more, and perhaps I have erred by expressing that with some frustration. For that, I am sorry.”
William did not know what to say. He was spared an uncomfortable silence when his mother grabbed his hands, pulled them to her cheek, and shed warm tears onto them.
“Oh, William, our dear, sweet boy. You must come back to us safely. I do not care if it is with a bride or not. Only come home all in one piece.”
William smiled gently. “I haven’t left yet, Mother. And there will be several weeks—possibly months—of training before I do. Perhaps the war will be done before I set sail, and I will be obliged to fritter away my time attending dances and picnics with eligible ladies in good old England.”
“I should like that.” She sniffed. She fished a handkerchief from her sleeve and held it delicately beneath her nose. Her husband, who had regained his composure, patted their son on the back.
“I shall write to your uncle today,” Mr. Cole said, a measure of his businesslike self returning. “It will take some time for the request to go through the proper channels. The sooner we begin the process, the sooner we will know whether this endeavor can succeed.”
Something of a grin spread across his face. It was not an expression he had often had cause to display. William was mildly taken aback by the sight of it, until his father’s speech followed with equal warmth.
“That should give your mother ample opportunity to fuss over you and spoil you. You will be home for at least another month. Let us make the most of it as a family. What do you say?”
William basked in the new mood of optimism that had sprung up between them.
“I could not ask for more,” he replied.
“Hmm, I expect you will get more, whether you ask for it or not. Your mother will likely have you fattened up on all your favorite dishes. Cook is going to have her hands full.”
With good relations restored, they parted amicably for the afternoon. William’s father returned to his desk to begin thepromised letter, and his mother—no doubt inspired by her husband’s teasing comment—went to speak to Cook.
William, free for the first time to do exactly as he pleased, fetched his horse. It wasn’t long before they were galloping across the meadow, the grass a blur beneath them. Exhilaration flooded through his entire body, and his horse sensed it, pulsing its hooves on the turf, its stride lengthening as it reached for more speed. On and on they raced, released from all care.
