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“I wonder at your use of the past perfect tense. You had been saving. For what had you been saving? What did you want? What do you want?”

“Oh, Lord Marsden, I want so very many things, but I can’t have any of them.”

“Tell me about them anyway.” The way he spoke, matter-of-factly and as if he were entitled to that information, made something in her stomach buzz. It was as if there were a swarm of insects inside her.

She wanted to squirm under his continued scrutiny. Instead she looked at him and told him the truth. “I want a small cottage with ample bookshelves and space for a vegetable garden. Perhaps some fruit trees. I should like to learn to grow my own food and preserve it. I will feed the birds, and make observations of their habits.”

He waited a beat. “That’s it?”

“Should there be more?”

“You are describing a life of quiet poverty.”

She smiled. They had different definitions of poverty. “Perhaps, but the cottage would be mine, as would the books inside it. I could go outside any time of night if I wanted to see the constellation Orion. I would be beholden to no one.”

“Wouldn’t you get lonely, though? Is that not the flip side of being beholden to no one?”

“I am already lonely.” She could scarcely believe she was admitting that so openly. “I wonder if being alone, truly alone, might be a more consoling sort of loneliness than being alone in company.”

He nodded, didn’t speak for a while. But then he said, “I understand this logic, Miss Brown.”

He did understand. That was the remarkable thing about Lord Marsden. He understood so many things.

“Ideally, though,” she continued, for now that the taps had been opened, she could not stop the flow of truth, “my cottage would be near to a village that could be reached on foot. So I would have opportunity for sociability.”

“Well, it sounds lovely. What is stopping you? Assuming you have dispatched with the threat posed by Mr. Hill.”

“I cannot afford it. Even this quiet life of so-called poverty is too dear. It is years away, at best.”

“I see.”

Hence her use of the past perfect tense. She had calculated that if she continued her economizing, she ought to be able to afford such a life in the space of half a dozen years. But that was before Mr. Hill. Before Mr. Baldwin. Before her father put her in this circumstance to begin with.

Before all the men who were intent on keeping her down.

Lord Marsden looked at her for a long time, long enough that she grew uneasy and fell back on diversionary tactics. She tipped her head back. “I should very much like to see the comet.”

“There may be too much light being cast by these flames,” he said, standing abruptly. “If you want to look for the comet, we ought to walk a way off.”

Did he not want to look for the comet? A bit bewildered, she followed him into the darkness. He led her to where the manicured turf of the garden met the woods. The rushing of the brook was louder out here.

It was darker out here, too. They both gazed at the sky, and as a minutes ticked by, Diantha relaxed. She considered the blanket she was still carrying. “My lord, would you think me terribly forward if I suggested we spread this blanket on the ground and sit on it? It might make the task of comet-waiting more comfortable.”

By way of answer, he took the blanket from her; shook it out over the turf. “It certainly isn’t any more forward than being out here to begin with.”

She made to lower herself to the ground, but he shot out a hand and stopped her. “Miss Brown, will you tell me your name? Your Christian name? I wonder that I have never heard it.”

“Why should a companion have a Christian name?”

“Doesn’t everyone have a Christian name?”

“I suppose so, but there are certain vocations, or perhaps I should say stations in life, in which one might as well not.”

He laughed, but unlike earlier, there was no mirth in it.

“Have I offended, my lord?”

“No. You have empathized.”