Their Second Chance Season (A Season to Wed #3)

Chapter Thirteen

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

D ays passed and then it was a week since Ash had seen Amelia in the clearing. And then another. Ash saw her fleetingly at events but never more than briefly and never long enough to engage her in conversation. She was always surrounded by a large group of admirers, men and women who were drawn to the warmth of her smile and the way she had a kind word for everyone. It was as if their recent encounters had been a strange dream, as if they hadn’t started to become close once again. It was only a few fleeting glances, glances that were soft and indulgent, that told him he had not made up their growing closeness. Even so, it was not what he had imagined after he had walked with her in the copse. He’d thought they had turned a corner in their dealings with one another. But as they hadn’t had a private conversation since, he hadn’t been able to tell her his plan of finally sharing his letters with her. Perhaps that was for the best. Sharing them may open up emotions that were better off buried.

The end of May came and went and true to Amelia’s word, money began to trickle in from their investment. It wasn’t much. He wasn’t going to become a rich man anytime soon but it did mean that the sale of Easton Hall was no longer a definite thing. It was still on the table as an idea but not one he had to face as soon as the end of the summer and, if things progressed as Amelia had assured him they would, perhaps he would not be the Ashworth who sold the family home after all. After months of a weight crushing his ribs, he could finally breathe again and that was all down to Amelia’s help.

Only weeks ago, reading through the household accounts would have made his stomach turn, but today he could pick them up and only wince several times as he made his way through the columns. It was progress and something he was building on. His next move would be to increase the efficiency of the Ashworth estate. He needed to make a trip to Easton Hall and see what could be done to improve living conditions for tenants and to make the land more profitable. The people who lived there depended on him and his actions, and he knew that he could not let them down, that his conscience would not let him. Even so, he appeared to be putting the journey off.

He didn’t care for London and he found the workings of the ton absurd and yet, for some reason, he still did not leave. He shook his head. He knew exactly why he was staying but he still appeared to be trying to lie to himself about how much he enjoyed even a fleeting glance of Amelia from across the ballroom. He was a starving man getting a glimpse of the most delicious meal one could want and now he was desperate for a taste. God, he was a fool. Almost as bad as Young Eddie, knowing that danger lay ahead and yet forging on anyway.

He turned his attention back to his accounts and was going over his second read-through, making a note of where yet more money could be saved, when his mother waltzed into the room.

‘Mother,’ he said, standing and making his way round his desk to see her. ‘How may I be of assistance?’ He hoped to goodness she wasn’t about to ask him to increase her allowance; it was the biggest expense of the household and one that needed curbing. The only thing holding him back was guilt. She had lived alone, without support for several years after his father died. He should have been here to look after her and the girls and he had not been. Yet another person he had let down.

‘On the contrary,’ she said, taking a seat in the chair he pulled forward for her. ‘I came to see if I could help you.’

‘Oh?’ He tried to inject that one word with enthusiasm even as his heart sank. Their ideas of help were vastly different from each other. He very much doubted she was about to offer to sell any items that would bring in some much-needed revenue.

‘James, dear.’ His heart sank. He was only ever dear when his mother wanted something from him. If she asked for more money he would have to explain that there was none—again. It was getting tiresome. ‘I notice that you have yet to choose a bride and I thought perhaps we should discuss the matter.’

Ah, it was worse than he had thought. ‘Mother, I—’

‘I know it is hard on you, James, but whether you want to or not, you need to marry and this season is the opportune moment.’

‘I don’t see why it has to be done this season.’ Now that some money was coming in there was no urgency to find a wealthy bride; he could wait or perhaps not even marry at all. He’d had doubts about another person relying on him for the rest of their life. His actions had let other people down in the past and now perhaps he wouldn’t have to worry about it at all.

‘We cannot wait until next year,’ said his mother, evidently not listening to his words. ‘We must strike now.’

He frowned. ‘Strike what?’

‘Right now you are a celebrated war hero. The interest in you is high. Why, only last night I heard Millicent Shadberry telling Lady Albrighton that you are the catch of the season.’ His mother beamed with pride.

Ash wrinkled his nose. He had no idea who either of these women were and it was slightly disturbing to hear they had been talking about him in such a way. He wasn’t a fish to be picked up by a woman. Besides, it wasn’t true. If a bride caught him, she would be seriously disappointed by what she got. A man with little money and one who was still plagued by nightmares of his time during the war.

‘If we leave it until next season, your options may be more limited,’ his mother continued, as if talking about him as if he were a prize stud was normal conversation. ‘Who knows? There may be a new war hero with whom to contend.’

‘That will only happen if there is another war and I pray to God that doesn’t happen again in my lifetime. Once was bad enough.’

Finally, his mother seemed to register from his tone of voice that this conversation was not going in her favour. ‘Well, quite, but still.’ She had the grace to look a little contrite but he knew it would not last. ‘We must be prepared for there to be a bigger, better catch next season. I’ve taken the liberty of making a list.’ She unfolded the paper she’d been clutching in her hand. I fear we must remove Emily Tillberry due to a recent engagement. It’s a shame because her family is a powerful one.’ Ash could not call forth Emily Tillberry’s face; after a while all the women had blurred into each other with one exception. ‘I have a longer list,’ continued his mother. ‘But these are the women with whom you’ve danced on more than one occasion.’

She held out the paper to him and he took it reluctantly. His eyes scanned down the names. ‘I didn’t realise you were taking such avid concern in my movements.’ A tightness was banding across his chest; different from the worry he’d had over the money but no less restrictive. He’d had no idea his mother was watching his every move. It was disconcerting and slightly strange. He loved the woman who’d birthed him, but she had no right to take such a deep interest in the woman he was going to marry.

‘The future of our family depends on the match you make. Of course I am taking a keen interest.’ His mother patted her hair as if pushing it back into place, which was of course impossible. Her hair was so tightly pinned it would likely not move in a gale. ‘I think Felicity Appleton is the top match. Her family is wealthy but not indecently so. She is young and her older sister has had a bushel of children, which bodes well for her fertility. She also glances at you a lot, especially when you are dancing with other women. I think she would take very little courting. You could be married in by Christmas with a child on the way by the next spring.’

Ash did remember dancing with Miss Appleton. She had a fondness for frills on her dresses and a laugh that grated on Ash’s skin. He was not marrying her. ‘No,’ he said.

‘But…’

‘This is not up for debate. I am not marrying Miss Appleton.’

‘Fine. Elizabeth Bishop is my preferred match. I only mentioned Felicity first because, although you have shown Miss Bishop marked attention, you have not yet begun an official courtship. She—’

‘No.’ Miss Bishop had been perfectly pleasant but she was not someone with whom he wanted to spend the rest of his life.

‘James, there is no need to be so antagonistic. You must find a bride, and who better to help you with your choice than your mother?’

Ash could think of at least twenty different people who would be better placed to help him with this task but he kept his council. He had learned that it was easier to state his intentions rather than get into a conversation with his mother about the merits of anything. She responded better when he was clear. ‘I have not decided whether or not to take a wife this season, Mother.’ Or ever. He did not wish anyone to know the weakness that plagued him at night and surely a wife would find out soon enough. If he had money coming in, then no one needed to know. ‘If I decide that I will, then I will inform you as to whom I settle on. Until then, I will not discuss the matter any further.’

He held out the list for her to take back but she kept her hands folded on her lap. ‘James, you are forcing me to be frank with you.’

‘No, I am not. If you are about to say something that you may later wish unsaid, I would advise you to keep it to yourself.’

‘It is up to me to be blunt.’ Ash held back a groan. He didn’t want to be rude but he was dangerously close to escorting his mother from his study and locking the door behind her. ‘I see that you are still waiting around for Amelia and you need to stop.’

He blinked. ‘I’m sorry.’ He wasn’t sorry, he was winded. He had no idea that anyone other than himself knew that there was still a special connection between him and Amelia. Not that there appeared to be a connection on her side. It was all him standing on the edge of ballrooms, trying to catch a glimpse of her. She was carrying on with her life and he would, too. One day he would stop feeling this overwhelming longing and move on but right now he needed to put his energy into other things, like working out how to stop his debilitating nightmares and restoring his family’s finances to name but two of his more pressing priorities.

‘You know what I am talking about, James. That girl adored you growing up, although you were largely unaware of it, I believed. And then you both turned eighteen and I have never seen such a pair of besotted fools. How you both thought your parents didn’t notice is beyond me. I admit I did hope then that you would marry and I know that her parents felt the same, but it wasn’t to be and that is a relief, to be honest.’

Ash remembered the way it had been to be so sunk in love that nothing else mattered and asked, ‘Why would that be a relief?’

‘Because she is barren.’

‘I’m sorry,’ he said again, which annoyed him because, yet again, he wasn’t sorry about anything. ‘I fail to see how that is relevant.’

His mother sighed as if she found him completely witless. ‘The Ashworths need a male heir to continue their line, and you need to be the one to provide it. As you inherited the land from your father and him from his, so your son must from you. It is the way things are done. Amelia was a sweet child but you turned your back for one minute and she married someone else. Not that that is relevant. She cannot provide you with an heir and therefore is not suitable.’

‘I don’t see why it is so imperative I provide the Ashworths with a male offspring.’ Ash chose to focus on that rather than his mother’s comments about Amelia marrying another man. He knew and understood her reasons and if that still hurt him, well, that was for him to deal with, no one else. ‘We are hardly royalty. We’re not even peers. If the name dies out, what does it matter?’ He ignored his mother’s gasp of outrage. ‘Besides, the girls will have children and will carry the family line. I need not even take a wife.’

The explosion he was waiting for from his mother after his words did not come. Instead, she said, far softer and kinder than he would have expected, ‘You may not think you want children now but trust me when I say that you do. My children have been my greatest joy and one you will miss even if you do not realise it now.’

His mother’s words did not have the impact she was clearly hoping for. Instead of thinking of a life without children of his own, Ash’s heart lurched at the thought of Amelia walking towards him on their wedding day, her eyes full of love and hope and of his hand reaching out to greet her as she met him at the altar. He shook his head to dispel the fantasy; they would never marry for a long list of reasons.

‘Maybe,’ he said when it was clear his mother wanted a response from him. ‘But that is my decision to make.’ When he saw she was about to protest again he added, ‘You can be assured that I have no intention of asking Lady Mortram to marry me, either.’ Although whether that was because he was sure she would turn him down or because he didn’t want to was no longer as clear to him as it had been at the beginning of the season. He’d known from the minute he saw her that he still desired her above all women but now…it was more than that, had perhaps always been more than that. But if he followed his heart, he would risk getting it obliterated once more and he wasn’t sure he was strong enough to live through that again.

‘Very well, I suppose I shall have to be happy with your assurance.’ His mother’s downturned lips suggested she was anything but pleased. At least she appeared to be resigned to the fact that she had no say in the matter when it came to him selecting a wife. ‘Promise me you will look over the list again, even if it is to rule these women out.’ She nodded to the paper in his hand.

‘I will,’ he said.

That finally seemed to satisfy her. ‘I will take my leave of you now. I am off to tea at Lady Blackmore’s and she is rather a stickler for punctuality as well you know.’ His mother laughed as if this fact was well-established knowledge.

Ash nodded, although he didn’t know who this lady was, either. He’d be pleased when the season was over and he could return to the country where he knew everyone’s name. If things continued to go well, he could oversee some of the repairs to Easton Hall himself. He was definitely not thinking about Amelia visiting her brother and how much easier it would be to see her when they were surrounded by livestock rather than people.

As soon as his mother left, Ash read through her list as promised and then tore the paper up into neat quarters and then again for good measure. The thought of picking women from a list left a sour taste in his mouth, worse than his hangover after too much of Hawk’s whisky. His mother might think it was a good way to pick a wife but it was too perfunctory for Ash’s tastes. He sighed and scrubbed a hand down his face; he had already spent too much time thinking about this today. Finding a wife was not a priority; building back his finances was.

He turned his attention to a letter from his estate manager. The houses that relied on Easton Hall for their survival needed some repairs, and he was glad that he was finally able to send some money to make that happen. He would need to make a visit to Easton Hall soon. He’d asked his manager to send detailed reports about the land and possible ways in which improvements could be made to enhance living conditions and also produce more money. He’d read the reports several times and had many ideas, but it was not the same as seeing the land for himself. He was in the middle of writing a lengthy letter to his manager when a knock sounded at his window.

He sat bolt upright. The sound came again. He twisted in his chair and stared at the pane of glass, unable to believe what he was seeing. He strode over to the window and flung it open. ‘What on earth are you doing?’

‘I didn’t have time to wait for Sienna to come home, so I’m coming this way so that no nosy neighbours notice,’ said Amelia, not looking at all repentant.

‘Oh, yes, because sneaking through the back gardens and into my study window is a far better plan than coming to the front door.’ Even though this was clearly a catastrophically bad idea, he knew he wasn’t going to send her away. ‘Are you coming in or are we going to conduct this conversation in this manner?’

‘Someone might see me standing out here.’

He raised an eyebrow. ‘Should you not have thought of that before?’

‘You’ll want to hear what I have to say.’ She planted her hands on the sill and appeared to be trying to lift herself from the ground.

He bit the inside of his mouth to stop himself from laughing as she barely moved. ‘I am very intrigued by why you are here.’ He stepped slightly back from the window and gestured to the rest of his study. ‘Please do come in.’

She had another attempt to lift herself from the ground but once again got nowhere.

‘Would you care for some assistance?’ he asked as casually as he could manage.

There was a long pause. ‘I used to be able to do this when we were children.’

That was true. They had sneaked into this room via the same method many years ago. Ash wasn’t sure why they hadn’t used the doors that time, either. ‘It’s been some time. Perhaps you are out of practice.’ He stepped closer to her and she held up her arms as if expecting him to lift her through like he would a small child. ‘I think that might hurt both of us. May I?’ He pointed to her waist.

He was close enough to hear her swallow and he waited for her to pull back, to return home and to send a note like a normal person.

‘Yes,’ she whispered.

He leaned forward and slid his hands around her waist, his lips dangerously close to her neck. She smelled like oranges and sunshine. For a moment, he could only stand there, breathing her in. ‘Ready,’ he murmured.

‘Yes.’

He pulled. He lifted her easily and she came through in a rustle of skirts, her curves brushing against him as he lowered her to the floor. He dropped his hands immediately and stepped back, willing his body to grasp that this was not a romantic moment.

‘I got the impression that your butler did not approve of my coming to call on you,’ Amelia said as she straightened out her clothes.

‘Whilst that is true, I fear he may disapprove of this more.’ Ash gestured to the window. ‘You could have sent word and then I would have come to you.’

‘Would you, though?’ she asked, moving past him into the room.

‘Is this a veiled reference to the unsent letters?’

‘I hardly think my comment was masked. I asked you about them outright the other night. I was not trying to be subtle.’

He moved through to the back of the study. There was a trunk here that he had still not unpacked. Up until now, he hadn’t been sure whether he would follow through with his idea to show her the unfinished letters, but they could never move forward if he didn’t. He undid the straps that held it together. He’d taken this case everywhere with him. In it was his uniform that he would never, God willing, have to wear again. Every letter that Amelia had ever sent him and his own to her were wrapped together tightly in string.

‘What brings you here? Not that I am not delighted to see you, obviously.’ He said the latter sentence without inflection, not wanting her to know just how much it was true. Since the moment he had seen her at the window, the malaise and general air of disquiet that followed him everywhere had been wiped out with a shot of adrenaline; she still had that much of an impact on him.

‘I have heard of a wonderful investment opportunity and it couldn’t wait,’ said Amelia, oblivious to his mental wrangling. ‘I have drafted a letter. All it needs is for you to add your amount and signature and it can be sent off.’ She opened the envelope and pulled out a piece of paper, holding it out for him to take.

He exchanged it for his bundle of papers.

‘What are these?’ she asked, taking them from him.

‘The letters I suspect you are so desirous of seeing.’ Her mouth opened and then closed. She looked from him to the letters and back again. A range of emotions crossed her face so quickly it was impossible to tell what she was thinking. It was rather enjoyable seeing her lost for words.

Fighting back a smile, he scanned over the contents of her letter. It all seemed in order and he had no qualms about adding some of his own money and signing his name at the bottom. He’d spotted the same investment opportunity and he’d wanted to discuss it with her before he made a move, but she had beaten him to it. It was good to know that his analysis had been correct.

By the time he had finished adding his name and sealing the envelope, she was still standing there clutching the letters to her chest. He hadn’t looked at them in years; couldn’t really remember the contents but he knew that he had strived to keep the worst of the horrors from her. By reading them, she would not see what he had faced on a daily basis. It was because he could not share the worst of his experience that he had never finished any of them. What was there should not scare her but it would hopefully give her some insight into what he had been feeling as a young man faced with the impossible horror of war. Maybe then she would forgive him for not writing to her and then maybe… But no, he was getting ahead of himself. ‘Are you going to read them?’

‘I don’t know,’ she whispered.

‘Why not?’ He thought that this was what she wanted from him.

She tapped the letters with her fingers. ‘I’ve held on to my anger at you for not writing to me for so long, I do not know who I will be without it.’

Her words cut him harder than any sword could do.

‘Not just angry. I was so many things—hurt, betrayed, devastated, alone. I did not know how to go on without my favourite person.’

Ash turned away from her as her words hit him. He’d had no idea the loss of him would cause her that much distress. He should have done; he’d been careless with youthful arrogance and it had cost him so much. ‘I never meant to cause you pain. It seems beyond foolish, standing in this well-lit room with all the comforts of modern life around us, but I thought I was sparing you. That if I sent you my letters they would bring the war into your drawing room and I did not want that for you. On some level, I thought you would understand without me having to tell you. I was a half-witted fool.’ He’d made so many mistakes, let down people he cared about and who cared about him. He was trying to make amends but sometimes it was like pushing water uphill.

She bit her lip. ‘No, you were young. We both were. I should have had more faith in you. Shall I start with this one?’ She pulled one from the start of the pile, her fingers trembling.

He shrugged, trying to seem casual when all he wanted to do was to fall to his knees and beg her forgiveness. ‘I have not looked at them in a long time. You would think that they would be in order but I cannot promise that they are. They are as likely to be in a jumble as not.’

She held one in her hand and set the rest on the table. He watched her face as she began to read. He had no idea of the contents, only remembering now that his letters had sometimes spoken of his love for her. Well, that was not a secret he needed to hide; she would know that was from the past. Her letters to him had spoken of her adoration and he knew, or at least he was fairly sure, that she did not feel the same way now. No one could feel those emotions for a man who had, in her eyes, abandoned her.

He hoped he hadn’t made a terrible mistake in showing her his words. She may no longer be young and innocent but she was no soldier, and some of the content would be hard to read, despite the fact that he had kept the worst of it from her. If this was what she wanted, then who was he to deny her.

She hadn’t made it to the end of the letter when the first tear fell. It was quickly followed by a second. She wiped them away with her fingers but more began to fall as she cried silently. It was a special kind of torture watching her heart break. ‘This is why I didn’t want you to read them. I cannot bear your sadness.’

‘Oh, Ash.’

When the tears didn’t stop falling, he pulled her to him. She came to him willingly, resting her head against his chest, the paper crinkling between them. Her curls tickled his chin as he tucked her tightly against him. Her whole body shook with silent sobs and his fingers stole into her hair, pulling on the strands in a way he knew she loved.

‘Melia, don’t cry. All is well. The war is over and we are perfectly safe. There is nothing to be afraid of.’

She half laughed into his chest. ‘I’m not afraid… I’m…’

‘Forget the letters. Let’s burn them together.’ She shook her head, her forehead rubbing against him. ‘Melia, look at me.’ She tilted her chin and gazed up at him. Her lashes were spiky with tears, her cheeks wet. She was achingly beautiful in a way that made his chest hurt. He wiped beneath her eyes with the pad of his thumb. ‘It’s over. We can move on.’

She nodded, continuing to gaze at him, her beautiful eyes filled with emotion, and he knew then that it was inevitable, that he’d been heading this way since he had seen her in the ballroom all those weeks ago. He was going to kiss her because he couldn’t not. Slowly, he dipped his head, giving her plenty of time to realise his intentions, to move away if the idea was abhorrent to her. His lips skimmed over her forehead, her cheek, and her breathing quickened. He stopped, his mouth hovering just above hers. ‘May I?’ he murmured, realising that he wanted to hear her admit she wanted this as much as he did. That this lunacy wasn’t all one-sided; that he wasn’t the only one spiralling out of control, doing things that were a spectacularly bad idea.

‘Yes,’ she whispered, her lips brushing his as she spoke and he was lost. He lowered his head and claimed her lips with his own. At first, the kiss was tentative, a gentle meeting of mouths as they relearned each other. It was everything he’d been dreaming of for months now. Ever since he had held her for their first waltz together, he had been careening towards this moment, no matter how much he might have denied it to himself.

He felt her soft moan and deepened the kiss, and then he forgot everything as his world became the movement of their lips, the brush of their tongues and the way her body was pressed against his. Nothing else existed but this moment. His body remembered this, the heady rush, the simple joy and the hard tug of desire. Nothing compared to it. Her hands roamed his chest, his shoulders, the nape of his neck. His own pulled her closer still; she was flush against him and he could feel every curve, every dip. It was both familiar and new.

Somewhere in the house, a door slammed. Probably from a gust of wind or a servant in a hurry. With Amelia pressed against him, Ash barely registered the sound but Amelia stilled. They stayed where they were for a moment, their lips touching, their breathing heavy, his heart pounding. He had no idea what to say, no plan as to how to proceed or even where he wanted this moment to go. No, that wasn’t true. His body was clamouring for them to carry on, to hell with the consequences. But there would be some and he wasn’t sure if he was prepared to take them and he was sure as hell that Amelia wasn’t. He lifted his head and gazed down at her. Her eyes were wide open, the shock in her expression almost comical.

She stepped away from him and his hands fell to his sides.

Her gaze flicked to the left and then the right, anywhere but at him, and his heart sank painfully. For him that moment had been almost magical, but clearly not for her.

‘I…’

‘Melia, there’s no need to panic.’ The rapid rise and fall of her chest told him that his words were too late. He had seen young soldiers succumb to agitation enough to know that she was too far gone for his words of reassurance to reach her, but that didn’t stop him from trying. ‘We got carried away. It is nothing for you to get upset about. I’m not going to try and ravish you on my study floor.’

She shook her head. ‘I don’t enjoy it.’

For a brief moment, Ash wished Mortram wasn’t dead so he could give him a piece of his mind. Amelia had used to adore kissing. He should be a gentleman and forget all about that but he couldn’t even if he wanted to. His mind reminded him of it every single time he saw her. And now she seemed almost afraid. Ash hated Mortram. Had hated him for taking Amelia away from him but now he loathed him because of what he must have done to Amelia to make her feel the way she did now.

Before his mind could get too creative on what he would like to do to Amelia’s late husband, Amelia started backing away from him. She was shaking her head. ‘I’m sorry if I gave you the impression that I…’ Her hand fluttered towards him, waving in the direction of his whole body. ‘Because I do not and I never will.’

‘Melia. It was just a kiss. We got carried away in the moment. Please don’t—’

But she cut him off. ‘The letters, you see…they were so…and I have realised…it took me back and therefore I…’

He held up a hand and mercifully, she stopped talking. ‘You do not need to explain. I understand.’ He didn’t, not truly, but he recognised that Amelia needed some time away from him to calm down.

‘This changes nothing,’ she said, finally finishing a coherent sentence.

‘Of course,’ he agreed.

‘I have no intention of marrying again.’

‘I do not believe I offered.’ It had only been a kiss. They’d kissed before.

She nodded. ‘Of course. I am getting carried away. It was just a kiss, as you say. I will see myself out. There is no need to get up on my behalf.’

Ash bit the inside of his cheek to stop himself from smiling and pointing out that he was already up. Now was not the time for teasing.

‘Excellent.’

What was excellent, Ash wasn’t sure. ‘Don’t forget this.’ He held up the investment letter she’d been so keen for him to sign that she had climbed through the gardens to get it to him.

‘Oh, yes.’ She took the proffered envelope from him as if it were a vial of poison and touching any part of him would activate it immediately. Then she handed it back to him. ‘You need to send it. It’s coming from you, not me.’

‘Of course.’ He took the letter back. The were both acting witless now.

She made for his study door and then stopped, seeming to recall the unconventional way she had arrived. She turned, looked towards the window, took a step in that direction, stopped, looked at him and then back at the study door.

In the end, she settled for the door, hotfooting it out of the room as if the very hounds of hell were about to catch up with her. Ash let her go without comment. After he heard his front door close behind her, he moved back to his desk. The unfinished stack of letters were still there, bound together aside from the one she had read, which now lay crumpled on the floor. He stared at the paper for a long time while several thoughts circulated. He wasn’t sure he was ever going to be whole enough to be a decent husband and, even if he was, Amelia did not want to marry again or even be touched by a man. They’d unintentionally hurt one another in the past and to do so again might be the end of both of their abilities to feel true happiness. He should leave well alone and yet…and yet…