William saw nothing further. He lowered himself into the nearest seat, placing the discredited gift down on the table. Miss Lockhart must really have loathed it to make a point of bringing it all the way to Munro to return it. It shouldn’t have surprised him. She had made no secret of her disgust with it.
And yet, hewassurprised. Despite his earlier bluster, he knew he was not blameless. He had departed the vicarage in no better form than that with which Miss Lockhart had received his gift. She likely wanted no reminder of itorhim. And yet…
She was not malicious by nature. Or resentful. She had taken his half-hearted attempt to woo her in her stride, even offering empathy and the beginnings of friendship. She had not encouraged him, but she had never been silly or cruel. Which was why her excessive response at their last meeting had caught him completely off guard. It was not like her to rub salt in the wound by going to such lengths to return the butterfly. If anything, she was probably as keen to forget the whole ordeal as he was.
Then why was he staring at that same discarded gift now, here in his sister’s home in Munro?
The letter!
William quickly peeled away the outer covering of the parcel and lifted the pages to his gaze. They were already partly unfolded. He straightened them further and began to read.
There were the usual greetings. A little catching up on family news. Congratulations to Charlotte and James on the birth of their daughter.
Ah, here it was…
I come now to a matter that is, unfortunately, less conversational. It has been weighing heavily on my mind. I regret having to burden you with the task of messenger, but it would be wholly inappropriate for me to contact your brother directly, as you understand all too well, I’m sure.
I shall come straight to the point. During one of his visits to the vicarage, Mr. Cole very kindly brought me a gift. No doubt he put a great deal of thought into it, which was a gift in and of itself. He had also been careful that it not be construed as a romantic gesture, since I had been clear on my feelings regarding marriage.
William stopped reading.
Miss Lockhart could have assumed he would be given the opportunity to read the letter eventually. But she was not only addressing him. His sister was the intended recipient of the letter. Its contents could thus be shared with whomever Charlotte saw fit. And Charlotte would want to share anything that benefitted her family.
In these few sentences, worded with such care, Miss Lockhart had gone to some lengths to protect his reputation. As a failed suitor. As a gift-giver. As a man. She was answering any doubts his family might have had regarding his behavior toward her. She had not apologized, though he sensed she was working her way up toward the very thing. But she was doing something even more important. She was defending his character.
William was numb with shock. No one had ever done that for him. Oh, he had been admired aplenty. But that was for his charm and wit and good looks. He had never before had his character praised. To the contrary. Indeed, the worst blow had come from Ellena, for whom he would have been the best man it was in his power to be. She had called his judgment into question, denouncing him as selfish, when all he had done was try to protect her.
Yet here was Miss Lockhart—whom he had all but discounted as a woman unworthy of his attention—trying to make amends for something in which he shared the blame. He knew she had seen something in him, something she valued deeply, even if only as a friend. And he had missed it completely. That was why the gift had been a disaster. He had quite misread her and her interest in little, winged creatures.
She hadn’t even been angry. No, not angry. Devastated. She had appeared quite broken, as if a sacred trust had been trampled upon.
Despite her profound hurt and disappointment, Miss Verity Lockhart had come to sensehishurt and disappointment. Shemust have been quite haunted by the thought of it for her to reach out after all this time. William could not fathom such uncommon decency on his behalf. It made him more than a little ashamed of the way he had deserted her without so much as a goodbye. And he had allowed his recollection of her to remain tainted by his own conceit ever since.
He returned to the letter, humbled and contrite and amazed at her good nature.
Mama has tried her best to make me into someone she can present to society with confidence. I remain, however, somewhat of a disappointment.
Her words stuck in his throat, as if it were he who had spoken them. In essence, Miss Lockhart and he were the same. An enigma to their parents. Playing a role they did not wish to sustain.
My strangeness is no secret in Fernbridge, where everyone has seen my sketches of insects or come across me at the pond or along a stream, seeking my next subject to study and then release with envy at its freedom.
William remembered how she always set her little models free. And how she had spoken of them with… What was it? Yes… With love. While her sketches might have been scientific, there was something else she had been trying to capture. Something—she had said it now—that she had envied. And her chasing after this had cast her as a figure most strange.
It was this very strangeness that had given them a connection. She had not been afraid to question his motives, to confront his disguise, perhaps because she saw someone else who was hiding from themselves.
Suddenly, everything Miss Lockhart had to say was precious, urgent, vital. She understood him. Now he wanted to understand her. To see her, as she had truly seen him.
Mr. Cole had not thought me strange. He had seen a woman of science who received no encouragement and he had tried to offer me a measure of it in his own way.
So shehadgrasped his motive!
Dear Mrs. Trenton, how can I explain my reaction without seeming spoiled and ungrateful? You are a woman of quality. I am not formed or polished to the same caliber. Everything I desire seems contrary to the norms of society. Your brother was wise to sever his association with me. I am an odd countrywoman who yearns for the freedom of fields, while my mind is filled with detailed observations that would bore guests who must suffer my company.
All I could see in Mr. Cole’s carefully chosen gift was a rare and wonderful creature that was trapped, pinned on display forever—a rare being that was to be owned without being understood. I’m afraid I rather saw myself in this butterfly, though I would not go so far as to call myself a wonderful creature. But Mr. Cole is certainly not to blame for being unable to read my mind.
William could read no more. His breathing grew tight as he fully grasped Miss Lockhart’s pain. He knew it all too well. Except he had escaped some of the loathsome constraints merely by being a man. He could follow his own will. And if he so desired, he could choose a wife who must grant him his leave as he wished it, to have a drink with the lads, to ride his horse, to leave his family and go to war. It would not be the sort of wife hewanted, but it was possible to marry and resume his individual interests.
What hedidwant, he now realized with great surprise, was someone like Miss Verity Lockhart. A woman who was true to herself even if it drew judgment from others. A partner who would accept him as he was, who would fight on his behalf.
