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He didn’t sound sincere. Not in the slightest.

Leah looked down at her hands, twisting her fingers together. “Will you not call Mr. Markham and me a handsome couple?” She looked up with a cajoling smile.

“If I ever think it, I will be sure to tell you.” The edge of nonchalance in his voice grated at her.

She scoffed. “I must assume you think us ill-suited. Just as you thought of Mr. Newton or Mr. Woodward and me.”

Mr. Hawthorne’s lips smiled, but his eyes were wary. “My opinion is not important, is it? If you are happy with the prospect of marrying Mr. Markham, then I shall wish you well.”

“He hasn’t expressed direct interest in marrying me. We are not long acquainted.”

“But it is what you want, isn’t it?” Mr. Hawthorne said. “To find a husband by the end of the house party?”

Leah looked at the snow out the window again, unsettled by his intent gaze. “Yes. But I would also like to love the man I marry. I have only considered myself to be in love once before.” The confession slipped past her lips. “You might guess the name of the man whom I was once so fond of.”

Mr. Hawthorne’s brow furrowed. He hesitated for a few seconds. “Mr. Davies?”

Leah nodded. “I’m sure you thought I didn’t love him, but…I believed that I did at the time.” She looked down at her hands.

Mr. Hawthorne’s voice came after a few seconds. “I didn’t know you loved him.”

Leah’s mouth flickered with a smile. “I would consider it less than that now, but I truly was fond of him, and I did wish to marry him.” She felt too shy to look at Mr. Hawthorne’s face, so she continued looking at her lap. “I never understood why you would put yourself between us. My intentions were pure. I was left behind by all my sisters. My parents explored the world without me.” She shrugged one shoulder. “I needed someone to blame.”

Silence settled between them.

“I’m sorry,” Mr. Hawthorne said, his voice sincere and gentle. “I should not have made your business my own. I was protective of Gilbert after learning of his wife’s death and all the misfortune he had endured. But I see now all that I deprived him of. He would have been very fortunate to have married a woman like you.”

Leah’s heart pounded. She was not accustomed to having such serious conversations with Mr. Hawthorne. There were no masked insults or teasing grins—only silence and the softly falling snow out the window. “Thank you.” Her voice was a weak whisper.

She had never imagined he would apologize for what he had done three years before, but the sincerity of his words touched her deeply. She had stopped hating him long before he spoke those words, but now her heart was dangerously open.

She looked up from her lap.

His soft brown eyes reached into hers, undoing the threads holding her defenses in place. She could no longer hide from the fact that she hated the idea of Mr. Hawthorne marrying Miss Benson—loving her, choosing her, laughing with her. Leah’s insides twisted at the notion, and suddenly she was quite curious about something.

“Do you hope to love the woman you marry?” she asked in a quiet voice.

Mr. Hawthorne’s features hardened, shielded in fresh vulnerability. He crossed his arms over his chest. “I had never given much thought to marriage until my mother was dying. She asked me to do it, and so I made my goal of finding my wife here at Bellthorne Hall. I thought it would be easy until you intervened.” A faint smile touched the corners of his mouth. “But no—love wasn’t a requirement.”

Leah paused on his words. They were spoken in past tense. Was it possible that he had changed his mind? “Is it still not a requirement?” she asked.

“My parents didn’t marry for love.” He exhaled slowly. “I have never had the privilege of observing a couple who began in love and remained in love until death. It seems to be a rare thing. I have often thought that even if I did find it, how long would it last?”

Leah shrugged. “My experience has been quite the opposite. My parents are deeply in love to this day.” She wrinkled her nose with a laugh. “It is rather sickening, actually.”

Mr. Hawthorne smiled, and Leah felt a sense of relief. He had been far too serious before, but now he looked intrigued.

“They spend nearly every waking hour together,” Leah continued. “They are always planning their next adventure, dancing, reading together, playing chess or cards…stealing kisses in front of their children.” She laughed, shaking her head. “They haven’t been without their disagreements, but their bond is strong. It might have caused them to neglect me in my adulthood, but I cannot fault them for it. I have grown up wishing to find the same bond, yet sometimes I feel that I have run out of time. But if such a love existed for them, I can’t help but wonder if it exists for me, too. I’m not entitled to it, of course, but I do find myself wishing for it.”

Mr. Hawthorne’s smile caused a flutter to pass through her stomach. She had never imagined she would be speaking of love so freely with him.

“You are making me wish for the same thing,” he said.

Leah’s heart pounded. Surely he meant that the story of her parents was making him wish for the same thing, not her. She was imagining things now; her heart was telling her stories she couldn’t believe. The silence persisted, and she scrambled to fill it.

“Perhaps you will find love with Miss Benson. You never know.” She tried to sound encouraging, but she heard the weakness in her own voice. “I am glad we are not working against one another any longer. We might both find what we came looking for.”

His eyes were heavy, his mouth a firm line. He didn’t look as optimistic as she hoped. “Do you think you could love Mr. Markham?” he asked.