"I did not intend to. I am not proud of it. I have a duty, and I know my duty. Yet I stand here in the middle of the night in my own garden and tell you plainly that I have never in my life wanted anything as I want to sit across a breakfast table from you for the next forty years."
She closed her eyes. "You cannot."
"I know." "You must not say such things to me." "I know."
"You are promised." "I am."
"I have nothing," she said, and her voice broke a little. "I have my aunt's charity, a small income, and my father's watch. I am not a woman who could carry a scandal. I am not brave enough."
"You are the bravest woman I have ever met." "For the bees?" "For everything."
She opened her eyes and looked at him. He was very close and very still, and he did not touch her. She was glad. She would not have been able to bear it if he had touched her.
"What do you want me to say?" she whispered.
"Nothing. Say nothing. I would not put the weight of this on you. I only wanted you to know that I see what has happened, though I do not know what to do with it. I did not want you to leave this house thinking I had merely been kind to you out of gratitude."
"I would not have thought that." "You might. You are a proud woman." "So are you a proud man."
He almost smiled. "Yes."
They stood for a long moment in the moonlight. Then she stepped back gently and drew her hand from his arm. "I will leave the day after tomorrow. Petra is better. She will be well. I will come, if you permit it, to visit her sometimes. I have grown to love her."