Chapter 17

Seventeen

S tephen returned from his afternoon ride with a clearer mind and a guilty conscience. He had been hoping to see Ruth all day, but at every turn she seemed to be avoiding him. She’d taken her breakfast in her own rooms, had luncheon in the garden with his aunt, and was gone either walking or in Aunt Cecelia’s chambers all day.

He walked inside, taking off his riding coat and gloves and handing both, along with his hat, to the butler before striding upstairs towards his chambers. He was halfway up the stairs before he saw her appear at the top, as though intending to come down. She turned as though to flee back to her own rooms, but he called out to her.

“Miss Selwyn?”

She hesitated. “My Lord?” she said quietly, turning at last to look at him.

“I am glad I ran into you,” he said, looking up at her from his place on the stairs. “I was hoping for a word.”

“Here, my Lord?” she asked. Her tone was stiff, but not unkind. Just…guarded.

“Perhaps you would be willing to take a turn with me in the gardens,” he said, knowing that Mr. Tylor would be listening to every word.

He did not miss the fact that she was uncomfortable. She clearly wanted to make some excuse, but in the end it seemed she could not think of one quickly enough and had to agree to his suggestion.

“A quick turn,” she said. She came down the stairs, her small hand resting on the banister as though she was appearing in a great hall as the guest of honor.

He offered her his arm when she reached him, walking her to the base of the stairs and then outside into the garden. When she was free of the stairs, she dropped his arm at once and walked beside him the remainder of the way, her hands clasped nervously in front of her.

Stephen strove to find the right words. Her nearness was disorienting .

“Miss Selwyn, when we last spoke, I am afraid I was uncharitable,” he said at last.

“You felt I infringed on a family matter,” she said quietly. “You felt I overstepped.”

He noticed she did not admit to overstepping, just acknowledged his feelings on the subject. She may be quiet and kind, but she knows her own mind, he thought.

“I was unjust,” he said quickly. “I regret my words. You have been a great help with my aunt, and I suppose I owe it to you to consider your suggestions as regards her health.”

“You owe me nothing,” Ruth said, her voice still low and careful. “My Lord, I am your employee, as you mentioned just the other day. As long as we share open and clear expectations, our arrangement should not involve a debt on either side.”

“You were right about the diary,” he said quickly, not wanting to be reminded of yet another verbal blunder.

She looked up at him with surprise. “My Lord?”

“I read it,” he said. He waved his hand dismissively. “Yes, I know — after all my self-righteous scolding about privacy, I went ahead and read the diary as you suggested. I found it most enlightening.” He cleared his throat. “To be quite frank, Miss Selwyn, I found it relatable.”

She swallowed hard. “You have had a similar situation, with a lady?”

He shook his head with a laugh. “No, I did not mean I related to the lost love of my dear aunt. I simply understand what it is to feel worn down by parental pressure in the matter of matrimony. I understand why she felt she had to cave to their wishes, especially considering this mysterious gentleman’s absence.”

Ruth turned and looked at him with genuine concern in her eyes. “I hated to read those letters,” she said. “It felt like such an intrusion, and beyond that I saw the pain and hurt in Lady Cecelia’s past. I believe it explains completely the cause of her loneliness.”

“Perhaps it explains the cause of her loneliness,” he said, “but it still left me with questions. Who was this man? Why did he not write more? Why did he not come back for her?”

“Perhaps he felt the inferiority of his station,” Ruth said quietly. “Your aunt faced the guilt and pressure put upon her by her parents, but this man may have been facing the guilt of his own lowly situation. He may not have wanted to subject Lady Cecelia to the small life he could offer.”

There was something deeper in her words — Stephen could see that. She spoke as though she understood this gentleman’s side of the matter completely. He turned and led them into the hedge growth, slowing so they could enjoy the statues and blossoms as they walked.

“Perhaps,” he said. “Regardless, my aunt has suffered much. It must have been difficult to be married all those years to a man you didn’t love, and to have to live in your own isolated world after his death.”

“I feel this knowledge is the key to helping her,” Ruth said quietly. “Yet I’m not sure exactly how.”

They walked on for a few moments in silence, and then Stephen stopped, catching Ruth’s elbow to slow her progress. She pulled back as though burned, a spot of bright color coming into her pale cheeks. He looked down on her .

“I said something yesterday to you — something else I regret.” He clenched his jaw at the memory. “I told you that you knew nothing of family heartbreak. It strikes me as particularly blind and prideful that I would make such an assumption. I have never heard you speak of personal heartbreak, but I do not, in fact, know anything about your family. I wish to apologize.”

She met his gaze steadily, and he saw a shine of sadness appear in her eyes.

“Thank you,” she said simply.

“I—” he hesitated, nervous. “I would be honored to hear your family’s story, if ever you wished to tell it. I will try to prove more trustworthy than I did in yesterday’s conversation.”

She looked as though she wanted to run away, but seemed to bolster her courage.

“I am from a very little family,” she said quietly. “We grew up in a little cottage, in a little village, and lived on little means.” She looked down at her hands and added with a small smile, “but we were more than a little happy, I assure you.”

“It was only yourself, your mother, and your father?” he pressed.

“Yes,” she acknowledged. “It is for that reason that I gained such a good education, I believe. Most girls in my situation would have been lucky to go to finishing school, but since there were no other children my father, who was a scholar in his own right, enjoyed sharing his knowledge with me.”

“What was your father’s occupation?” he asked.

“He was a rector at our local parish.” She smiled and shrugged. “And my mother was the perfect rector’s wife: kind and gentle, and good at hosting every errant soul that came to our humble home.” Her face fell. “I wanted to be just like her. I planned to marry some farmer from our parish and live out my days striving in peace and comfort. A quiet life.”

“That did not happen?” he asked, stating the obvious.

“My parents took in a man off the street one night,” she said, tears coming into her eyes. “He was a poor man — a vagrant, actually — who had hardly a coin to his name. My mother gave him a coat and shoes from my father’s closet, put him in our guest room, and told him they would take him to the city to find work the next day.”

“Did they?” he asked. He could see the tragedy in her eyes.

“They took him together, but they never reached their destination.” She began to shake suddenly, and moved to a nearby bench to sit. He went and sat beside her. After a moment, she said softly, “Their wagon collided with an out-of-control cart and rolled into a ditch. They were both crushed, as they were riding in the front driving the horse. The man they were transporting escaped, falling out of way of the wagon in the descent.”

“Ruth,” he said, “I am so sorry.”

He had used her Christian name without meaning to, and he saw her start and look up at him with a vulnerability that tore at his heart. He reached out and briefly, ever so briefly, touched her arm.

“I am glad that you told me,” he said. “And I wince to think how hurtful my words must have appeared in light of your personal loss. Besides that,” he paused, wondering if he was crossing a line with his honesty, “you are becoming family. In many ways, you have been more of a family member to my aunt than her blood relatives.”

She looked down at his hand resting on her arm, and he pulled his hands away again. She smiled.

“You are kind to say such things,” she said.

“I am merely attempting to right an unkindness,” he confessed. “I regret my words.”

“I believe you,” she said, tilting her head up towards him and brushing the tears from her eyes. “I will say, it is unusual for an employer to take such care setting the record straight with his employee. You could have simply never addressed the subject again and I would have understood.”

Stephen looked at her for a long moment, wanting desperately to say what was in his heart. You are not just an employee to me.

“That course of action would have been easier,” he settled on in the end, “but it would not have been right.”

“You often do the right thing, my Lord,” she said.

Stephen was so used to seeing the little woman drop her eyes shyly in moments like these that he was rather struck by her direct glance. She held his gaze, her blue eyes like pools into which he could feel himself sinking.

The moment felt as though it hung suspended in time: the breeze slowing in the trees overhead, their conversation sheltered by hedges on all sides, a tendril of her fair hair drifting across her cheek and then gently back into place. Stephen felt a sudden urge to take her into his arms.

He stood up quickly.

“We ought to walk back towards the house,” he said, a little hoarsely.

She smiled and stood as well. “I agree,” she said.

Unspoken between them was the truth that, if discovered alone in the arbor, it would be unseemly. Also unspoken: neither of them wanted to leave each other’s company. Stephen wondered if she knew how much he yearned for her. He prayed she did not. He had only begun to admit it to himself, and he desperately didn’t want to hurt her.

They walked out of the hedge in silence, their shoulders brushing on occasion. Stephen was terribly and beautifully conscious of Ruth’s nearness, and his heart ached to see how calm and detached she seemed. She’d been honest with him about her history, and he felt that things between them were mended from the day before. Still, the conversation had drawn them closer than ever, and that closeness without the love that Stephen had begun to crave was difficult to bear.

Just inside the door, Mr. Tylor came towards them with a letter on a tray, breaking whatever spell of silence had bound the two.

“My Lord,” the butler said solemnly, “We just received another letter from your father, the Duke.” He extended the letter.

Stephen took it and put it in his pocket, waving the butler away. Ruth looked at him inquisitively.

“Why don’t you read it?” she asked.

Stephen cleared his throat. “His letters all say the same thing, and I am hardly in the mood to hear that I am a disappointment; that I am wasting my time here, and that I must hurry home. ”

She tilted her head to the side and eyed him silently. He looked at her for a long moment and then sighed and produced the letter from his pocket.

“I do not know how you can convince me to do something without uttering so much as a sound,” he said, teasing her peevishly. “But I shall read it for your benefit and yours alone.”

He broke the seal and scanned the letter.

“As I suspected,” he said after a moment, “It is from my parents, and they are asking for my presence at the first ball of the Season. They are attending, and wish to see me there.”

Ruth smiled at him brightly. “You ought to go.” She looked around her. “It really is quite safe here for your aunt and I. We enjoy your company, of course, but one ball is not such a great commitment.” Her eyes were soft. “You can always hurry back when you are through.”

Looking at her standing there so kind and beautiful before him, Stephen suddenly had an idea. What if I didn’t have to hurry back to you? What if you were with me all along?

“You should come,” he blurted out, feeling foolish and awkward. "Please,” he added. “I have grown…used to you, and my aunt of course. We can bring her along and allow her to relive some of her youth in a safe and happy environment. You will be there to tend to her and,” he paused a moment, “and you will be there for me to talk to.”

Ruth’s shocked expression softened. “I am sure you will be quite occupied talking to the other ladies of the ton.” She hurried to add, “and gentlemen, of course.”

“Please,” he said simply, hoping that his sincerity would convince her. Now that the idea had come to him, it filled his thoughts: the idea of dancing with Ruth in his arms, facing his parent’s blockade with her at his side, and seeing the magic through her eyes. “Please come.”

She hesitated only a moment, and then smiled brightly. “I would love to,” she said. “And I believe your aunt will enjoy it as well. We may have to introduce the idea by degrees, and do a good deal of discussion ahead of time to avoid any triggering moments, but I think it will help speed her on the way to healing to replace her sad memories with happy ones.”

Stephen let out his breath with a happy sigh. “Good,” he said. “It is settled, then.”

Ruth beamed in response.