"It is all right."
"It doesn't sound all right."
"No, but it is true."
Cecilia reached for her hand. "I would never have—"
"Stop." Cecilia fell silent. Caroline squeezed her fingers. "You would have done exactly what you did. You loved him. He loved you. You said yes."
Tears filled Cecilia's eyes. "I hate that it hurt you."
"So do I."
They both laughed weakly. Caroline leaned back. "I was wrong about him."
"Wrong?"
"I thought he loved me because I loved him." Cecilia listened. "I took familiarity and turned it into certainty."
"You were close."
"Yes. He cared about me."
"Yes, but—"
"Not—no." Cecilia looked down. Caroline found she could say the rest now: "And perhaps that is what I was actually grieving."
"What? Not Samuel?" Cecilia looked up.
"The life I imagined."
Silence. Then Cecilia asked quietly, "And now?"
Caroline knew what she meant: Nicholas. She looked toward the window. "Now I think I may have been imagining in the wrong direction."
Cecilia's eyes widened. "Oh."
"Do not."
"I said nothing."
"You said it with your face."
Cecilia smiled. "Rivenhall."
Caroline sighed. "Yes. The Duke. The man."
Cecilia's smile softened. "That sounds serious."
"It is becoming inconvenient."
"Excellent."
Caroline looked at her. "You are enjoying this too much."
"I have spent three weeks feeling guilty; allow me one pleasure." Caroline laughed. Then Cecilia's expression changed. "Does he love you?"
Caroline went quiet. "Yes."
Cecilia waited. "How long?"
"Years."
"Oh, Caroline."
"I know."
"You didn't know?"
"No."
Cecilia stared at her. "Were you blind?"
Caroline burst out laughing. "Yes, apparently."
And for the first time, the idea did not frighten her. It amused her a little.
Nicholas's reputation continued to confuse Caroline. The more time she spent with him, the less she understood why people feared him. Then she saw him angry.
It happened at Rivenhall. A tenant had come to speak with Nicholas about a lease. Caroline happened to be in the estate office with him, arguing about the placement of a new lane on a map. The tenant, Mr. Hale, waited near the door.
Nicholas looked up. "Come in."
The man entered nervously. "Your Grace."
"What is it?"
"My brother's field."
Nicholas's expression changed. "The boundary dispute?"
"Yes."
"I thought Carr had resolved it."
Mr. Hale hesitated. Nicholas's eyes sharpened. "What happened?"
"Mr. Carr said the papers were clear."
"Were they?"
"No, Your Grace."
Nicholas stood. The room changed. Caroline felt it: not violence—control. Cold, exact control.
"Show me."
Mr. Hale unfolded several documents. Nicholas read; his jaw tightened. "Carr has altered the line."
"Yes."
"Without authority."
"Yes."
Nicholas looked toward the bell. "Send for Carr."
The secretary moved immediately. Caroline watched Nicholas. He did not raise his voice; he did not curse. He simply became frighteningly precise.
Within fifteen minutes, the matter was understood. Within twenty, Mr. Carr had been summoned. Within thirty, Nicholas had made him explain why three acres of tenant land had been added to another lease.
Carr attempted excuses. Nicholas stopped him. "Did you know the boundary was wrong?"
"Yes, Your Grace."
"Did you correct it?"
"No."
"Why?"
Carr hesitated. Nicholas's voice became very quiet: "Do not make me ask a third time."
Carr admitted the truth: a wealthy neighboring tenant had paid him. Nicholas dismissed him from service before the hour. He restored the land; he ordered the lost income reimbursed; he told Mr. Hale that if the money did not arrive within a week, he was to come directly to Nicholas.
Then it was over. Carr left pale; Mr. Hale left grateful. Nicholas returned to the map.
Caroline stared at him.
"What?"
"You are terrifying."
"I have been told."
"No, I mean actually."
Nicholas looked at her. "Does it trouble you?"
Caroline considered. "No."
His expression softened slightly. "Why?"
"Because you weren't angry that someone disobeyed you." Nicholas waited. "You were angry because someone used your authority to hurt someone weaker." He said nothing. Caroline looked at him. "That is different."
Nicholas's eyes changed. Very few people understood that distinction; Caroline did. Of course she did.
She turned back to the map. "Your lane is still wrong."
He almost laughed. "Caroline."
"Yes?"
"I have just dismissed a man, and most people would give me ten minutes."
"I am not most people."
"No," Nicholas said softly. "You are not."
By the middle of December, Caroline had stopped measuring time by how long it had been since Samuel's engagement; she began measuring it by Nicholas: the day of the ride, the afternoon in the bookshop, the evening at Rivenhall, the morning he sent the compass, the day she discovered he could be frightening, the day she discovered he could blush. Each memory attached itself to something warmer, something alive.