“His exact name does not hold any relevance to this conversation,” Temperance tried to detract, but her gaze fell into the distance where she had seen Harper last.
“You mean Harper Crauford.”
“Must you say his name so loudly?” Temperance had a slight panic to her voice.
“We are in the middle of a park,” Alethea said dryly. “No one is listening but us. You do not need to be so secretive you know.”
“Well, whatever it is, I don’t think that his name matters very much at the moment. So, I would urge you to drop that.”
Her friends did not argue with her further, but Charity leaned forward. “Temperance, does he know?”
“No.”
“And does he care for you?”
Temperance hesitated too long, wondering what to make of his little actions. Even his little speech to her today, how he had told her that she should think better of herself. Was that not a form of care? Certainly, it was.
And certainly it was something that was enough to give her false hope.
“That hesitation tells me enough,” Alethea lifted a brow.
“It tells you nothing,” Temperance said quickly. “He is protective, that is all. He feels responsible for my future. That is very different from affection.”
“Men are rarely protective over women they feel nothing for,” Charity said.
“You do not understand,” Temperance shook her head. “He wishes me married and has spent weeks placing suitors in my path.”
“And yet none of them are good enough,” Alethea pointed out. “You told us yourself that he finds fault in every one.”
“That is because he is controlling.”
“Perhaps,” Alethea said gently, “or perhaps he cannot bear the thought of losing you.”
Temperance looked away toward the lake, her throat tightening.
“I cannot allow myself to believe that,” she whispered.
“Why not?” Charity asked.
“Because if I believe it and I am wrong, I will humiliate myself beyond repair.”
Her friends were silent for a moment. Then Alethea sat beside her on the bench and took her hand.
“My dear,” she said softly, “you are speaking as though silence protects you. It does not. If anything, it only guarantees your unhappiness.”
Temperance swallowed.
“What would you have me do?” she asked. “March up to him and say, ‘Good afternoon, Your Grace, I am in love with you while you arrange my marriage to another’? That sounds absurd.”
“When you say it like that, yes, a little,” Charity laughed. “But perhaps it doesn’t have to be so dramatic, and there is a possibility that your feelings are returned.”
Temperance huffed a breath that was almost a laugh. “I don’t think I have a chance.”
“But you must do something,” Charity said. “Because if you marry one of these men while loving him, you will be miserable.”
“I know,” she said quietly.
“And if he loves you too,” Alethea added, “then every day you say nothing is a day you both suffer for no reason.”
