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That was precisely when he needed to listen most. “The letters will remain with me,” he said. “I shall ask Eleanor to send her stories to my house.”
“Thank you,” Charlotte said.
“Next time, I shall ask whether you wish to help before making plans.”
The tension eased from her shoulders, and she let out a slow breath. “That would be welcome,” she said.
He looked toward the way they had come, at the long, sunlit path. “Shall we turn back?”
“Yes. I think we should.” She accepted his arm again, though her touch was lighter now, and he felt the difference like a missing step.
For a while, they walked without speaking. Alexander resisted the urge to fill the silence with another apology. He had already made one. Charlotte deserved time to decide what she thought, and he kept his eyes on the path, listening to the quiet crunch of their steps.
Near the gate, she glanced up at him. “I should like to contribute a story about your mother,” Charlotte said.
“You do not need to,” Alexander said carefully, keeping his eyes on her face, afraid that if he looked away, she would take the offer back.
“I know,” she said, and her voice was gentle. “I should like to.”
He inclined his head, and something in his chest eased, a tight, held thing letting go at last. The breeze stirred the leaves above them, and a patch of sunlight slid across her shoulder and away. “Then I should be grateful to receive it.”
“I shall send it when I have written it,” she said.
“Whenever it suits you.”
Charlotte’s mouth curved faintly, a small, warm bend of her lips that reached her eyes. She didn't smile fully, and he understood she didn't need to. He had been given something quieter and more precious. “Better,” she said.
He smiled, though his chest still ached. It was a strange, sweet ache, full of the memory of her withdrawn hand and the greater gift of her returned trust.
“Thank you for the walk,” she said, looking at him.
“Thank you for allowing me to join you,” Alexander said, and meant it more deeply than he could say.
She looked at him for a moment, her gaze soft and thoughtful, as though weighing him once more and finding something worth keeping. He had wanted to spend every afternoon beside her and nearly made her regret giving him the morning. The thought sat in him, humbling and clear, and he let himself feel its full weight before turning and slowly starting down the path.
He would not make the same mistakes he had already made with her. Somehow, his eagerness had made him blunder badly. But he had not completely lost her. There was a small chance he might yet win her heart. But it wouldn't be easy. The things worth fighting for never were.
Seven
Charlotte found Alexander’s note beneath a dinner invitation and a bill for ribbon she’d forgotten about. She opened his missive first. The other two items could wait as they weren’t nearly as important to her. She didn’t know how it had happened, but he had captured her attention again, and she feared her heart would soon follow. If she had ever gotten it back from him in the first place…
Charlotte,
I have decided that Mother’s book must wait. You distract me far more than the family correspondence, and are far more pleasant to spend my time on.
May I call tomorrow? I shall bring no papers, though I may ask for a kiss. Your lips tempt me as nothing ever has.
Alexander
Charlotte smiled as she reread his note. He had listened to her, and she was pleased he wanted to visit. She glanced at the unfinished account for his mother. She had meant what she said during their walk, though she regretted how disappointed he had looked. His note reassured her that they could put the disagreement behind them. She took a fresh sheet to write her reply.
Alexander,
Come at four. I shall be in the library, attempting to sort my books. You may distract me, provided you keep your word about a kiss.
I have missed your lips, too.
Charlotte
