Elmwood
“Indeed,” said Winthrop, pushing rudely past him and into the room and shutting the door behind himself.
“I had almost managed it. Then a certain Lady Croft accosted me in my room, wearing nothing but a shift that left not a modicum to the imagination, I might add, and I now find that sleep eludes me.”
“Jealous?” Winthrop said, with a wicked little smirk.
At this thought, he forced himself to pause.
The truth was, once he was gone, neither Winthrop nor Lady Croft nor anything they might choose to do together or with anyone else would be any of his business.
He ought to find comfort in the thought that perhaps two good, kind people might find each other as a final result of the mess he’d made.
Perhaps they could live together at Merewyth, taking care of Rollo and eating fried eggs and being blissfully happy.
“Don’t call her that,” he said, turning away from Winthrop.
The word love was now rattling around uncomfortably in his chest. “People don’t know that her husband is dead, and you’ll cause her a world of trouble if you blab it about.
” Wait. “Why do you know that her husband is dead? Did she tell you?”
“Never mind that. I need to ask you a question.”
“Not before you answer mine!”
Winthrop reached out and placed both of his hands on Elmwood’s shoulders, bracing the two of them together.
“Do you love her enough to give up everything to be with her?”
“What?” Elmwood had the urge to pull away, but Winthrop’s grip was tight.
“If you love her enough to throw everything else to the winds…then you should run away with her. I’ll smuggle you both onto a ship bound for Avengrace.
I’ll give up all my plotting with Rollo and Lady Isobel and all the rest. I want you to be yourself again, Elmwood.
If you might find happiness with Lady Croft, then you should grasp it with both hands. ”
Elmwood wasn’t certain if he wanted to laugh or cry.
Winthrop had it so wrong. Elmwood wasn’t going to run away to some happy future with Lady Croft.
She would never abandon Croftholde, and Winthrop didn’t know her at all if he thought she would.
Besides, she didn’t even like Elmwood—and why would she, when he had given her no reason to? She felt sorry for him, at best.
No, Elmwood had a plan. He was going to turn himself in and leave her Rollo so she would always have a home here, in this place that she loved above all else. But he couldn’t tell Winthrop that. Winthrop would stop him.
He forced himself to smile at his friend.
“Don’t be silly, Win. There’s nothing like that between Lady Croft and me. It’s true that I…admire her greatly, but you know that I’m no longer the trollop for love that I once was, and she most certainly has no interest in me.”
Winthrop shook his head.
“You always sell yourself short. I saw the woman’s face when we talked about you. She cares for you, Elmwood. She may even love you back.”
It was so preposterous that Elmwood laughed.
“She cares for me in the same way she cares for the flowering vines and the hapless villagers and the idiot dogs that fall into crevasses. She wants everything in its proper place and well sorted, and I am such a mess that she has deigned to tidy me up a bit. That is the extent of it.” That was not entirely true.
He thought that maybe, just maybe, given the look she had shown him ever so briefly, she fancied bedding him.
But lots of people fancied that. It didn’t mean anything.
Winthrop’s shoulders sagged a little, but he didn’t release Elmwood.
“Are you absolutely certain? Your treatment of Lady Isobel this evening was not encouraging.”
“I know, Win, I know. I’ve been bungling this whole thing, but I promise you, I’m going to do right by everyone. You have my word.” He said this as earnestly as he could. He meant it.
Winthrop would not like the way Elmwood chose to do it, but eventually, he would come to understand that it was the only real choice.