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“You’re right. We won’t be able to assess how comfortable this is unless we stay longer,” she agreed. “Why don’t we send for some tea? That’s what we would do if we had guests.”

She wasn’t quite meeting his eyes. Sampson had the impression that, in spite of her words, she was a bit uncomfortable with something about the proceedings. Was the furniture too close after all?

He got up and went to the door. A maid happened to be passing by, conveniently enough, and he asked her to arrange for tea to be brought up for the two of them. That managed, he returned to his seat and did his best to assess his own comfort with their proximity to one another. He didn’t feel as if they were unusually close.

But there was something in the air; he could sense it, too. There was an unusual tension that he wasn’t accustomed to in situations like this one. Perhaps it’s because the two of us are alone together.

They had been alone together before. In fact, they had been that way for about an hour’s time now, setting up this room. But there had been distractions then. They had been able to turn their backs to one another, focus on the physical exertion of moving the furniture or the mental task of deciding where it should go. Now there was nothing to divert their attention from one another.

I’m just sitting in a room with my wife, he reminded himself. Nothing unusual about that.

No, on paper there wasn’t. But the mere fact of having a wife was still beyond unusual to Sampson. It still felt as if he were walking through some kind of strange dream.

Her eyes fixed on his arm, and he suddenly realized that he hadn’t rolled down his sleeves after having moved the furniture. To do so now would mean making a big deal out of the fact that he’d caught her looking, and yet he did feel a little self-conscious, suddenly.

Best to address it head-on. “Are you looking at my scars?

Her whole face went bright red, and he felt a stab of regret. Maybe it hadn’t been right to bring that up directly, as he had. “I’m sorry,” she murmured. “I didn’t…mean to.”

“It’s all right,” he said quickly. “I wasn’t trying to make you feel awkward. I don’t mind. I guess I ought to keep my sleeves rolled down if I don’t want people to see my arms.”

They were interrupted by the arrival of the tea, but he noticed that Amanda had sat up just a bit straighter at that. She shifted in her seat as the tea was poured. She’s going to say something. She’s just waiting for her moment.

When the maid had withdrawn, and they each had a cup in their hands, she hesitated only a moment before speaking. He had the sense she had just been waiting for permission to do so. “Where did you get those scars?” she asked. “Also at war?”

He hesitated. “Do you want to hear about this? It’s not a pretty thing, war. I wouldn’t want to put unpleasant thoughts in your head.”

“Those thoughts are already in my head,” she said evenly. “It’s not possible for me to escape thoughts of the war that changed my whole life. Had it not been for that, I would be married to George right now.”

He felt a strange churning in the pit of his stomach. “You still yearn for him.”

She put her cup down and regarded him. “It isn’t that,” she said quietly. “Not exactly. I wouldn’t say that I yearn. George was…a good man. You knew him, so you know that. I mourn the fact that he was lost. I feel as if a friend is gone. I wish he was still here. But I don’t yearn for him. I simply wish he could have lived. And I know that if he had, my life would be very different…though it isn’t a life I necessarily wish I had lived. I don’t feel any discontent with the life I’m in right now.”

“That’s well said,” he murmured. He was impressed. She’d managed to show respect and care for George while still being clear that she didn’t wish she was married to him. It was a fine line to walk, indeed.

He wondered if it was utterly true. He believed her that she wasn’t heartbroken over the loss of her marriage to George, but if she could have chosen, surely she would still want to be married to him. After all, he was the one she had said yes to in the first place. He was just filling in.

He took another sip of his drink and returned to her original question. “My scars are from the war,” he said. “As you know, I was there for many years. It’s not the kind of life a man can live without picking up a few wounds. I was fortunate that it was never anything serious.”

Her eyes flicked to the mark across his face, but only briefly. She didn’t mention it.

Perhaps it was time someone did. He traced the scar there with his fingertips, the same old habit he’d adopted since returning from the front. “Even this wasn’t a serious injury,” he told her. “It was just a bit of shrapnel. But cuts to the face leave scars. I knew the moment it happened that I would carry it forever.”

“And did that bother you?” she asked him quietly.

“Not at the time. It’s a different world when you’re at war,” he said, knowing that he couldn’t really hope to make her understand it. “Everyone has scars. Everyone is dealing with the same things, and you just don’t think about what it’s going to be like to bring these things back home. It’s impossible to split your focus that way. You just have to exist from one day to the next.”

“And you were there for years,” she recalled. “Much longer than George was.”

He nodded. “I had been there for years before George arrived,” he said. “I would be there still had it not been for my father’s death. But I had to come home and assume my responsibilities to the dukedom.”

“It must have been hard,” she said softly. “Getting that news about your father. Having to come home knowing that he was already gone.”

“We weren’t that close,” Sampson said, his voice tight. “He was…not a good man. He was cruel to me, and cruel to my mother…well, I’ll just say that I don’t miss him at all.” He swallowed. “I don’t know that I would have wanted to come back from the war if he was still here.”

Amanda nodded slowly. “I see.” She bit her lip. “I suppose Rose has made it clear that I didn’t feel close to my father either. I wouldn’t have said he was a cruel man, exactly—at least, not to me. He was awful to Rose, but to me he was merely distant. Not a cruel father, but he wasn’t a loving one. I’m sure he doesn’t think of me at all now that I’m no longer in his house.”

“Does that make you sad?”