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“They can’t possibly enjoy that.” He rubbed his thumb over the back of her hand.

“No, but it’s necessary.” She held his gaze. “I’m glad you came, Gregory. We— I enjoy having you here.”

“I fought for a lot of years, Helene.” He held his breath to see if she’d object to him calling her by her Christian name. She didn’t. “I can’t say that there were many things about those years I enjoyed. It’s been a fine thing these past weeks, being here with you and your family. I’m glad I came as well. I am very, very glad.”

“I’m sorry I interrupted your laundry,” she said quietly.

“I’m not.”

“My company is preferable to a washboard’s?” She smiled a bit coyly. “I’m so relieved.”

“Are you attempting to force a confession? To get me to admit that I spend my days eager for your company? That those short hours I spend with you each evening are the best part of my day?”

Color stained her cheeks, but she didn’t shy away from the compliment. “Do you know what it is I look forward to?”

He inched closer to her, their legs brushing against each other on the log. “What is it you look forward to?”

“The evenings you dance with me.”

His heart had begun to thrum inside him. He’d imagined this so many times— courting her, working to convince her to love him. His efforts, it seemed, weren’t failing.

“I’m not a very skilled dancer,” he admitted. “I’m grateful you overlook that.”

“I think you’re a fine dancer.” She leaned toward him and pressed the lightest of kisses to his cheek. “And a fine man.”

Gregory couldn’t quite piece two thoughts together. She’d kissed him. On the cheek, yes, but she’d kissed him.

With a quick smile and an ever-growing blush, she stood. “I need to get back to the house,” she said. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Gregory.”

“Good night, Helene.”

“Good night to you as well.”

Chapter Seven

The next morning Gregory was still in a state of inarguable shock. Helene’s kiss hadn’t left his thoughts. And with the memory came hopes of kissing her more fully. He’d lain awake most of the night in the loft, with thoughts of her lingering in his mind, torturing him.

During his years serving alongside Josiah, he’d imagined her as something of an angel. The reality was far better. An angel was something distant and unobtainable; Helene was very real and lovely in the best of ways.

And she had no idea who he actually was.

He had mentioned his surname during conversations with Mrs. Bowen, but no one seemed to have made the connection. He knew Josiah had written home about him, but Helene and her mother hadn’t seemed to have pieced those things together with the man he was. He ought to have confessed that first day, or at least shortly thereafter. But things had moved quickly. He’d been up to his ears in work, struggling to win Liam’s trust and prove himself worthy of Helene’s. Next thing he’d known, he’d passed three entire weeks under a hidden identity. There was no easy way to explain things now.

He walked up the last row of crops that he needed to check before lunch. Liam was one row over, doing the same. The boy had been in something of a dark study all day, his quiet, pensive mood matching Gregory’s.

“I set the lunch pails up against that fence post,” he told Liam, and received a silent nod in response. They were quite the team.

A moment later, they were seated side by side in the minimal shadow cast by the thin fence post. Liam ate silently. Gregory did the same as he set his mind to his dilemma.

Good morning, Helene, he silently practiced a greeting for the next day. The sky is clear. The stalls are mucked. And by the way, I was your brother’s best friend in the army. I apologize for not mentioning that sooner.

That sounded ridiculous.

Supper was wonderful. Don’t tell your mother, but I was with your brother when he died.

That was even worse.

He’d simply have to look her in the eye, admit he hadn’t been entirely forthright, and hope she forgave him.