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Colonel Fitzwilliam had been sitting with them at least an hour, hoping for her return, and almost resolving to walk after her till she could be found.

—Pride and Prejudice

BENJ LEANED OVER to Darcy. “Please excuse my absence.”

Darcy raised one brow. “Where are you going?”

“It’s time to fight.”

“What?”

Benj glanced down at his friend as he stood and took a strawberry tart off the top of the tea tray. “One thing you taught me about women is that you can’t always determine their feelings by their actions.”

Darcy eyed him with shrewd eyes, and a smile pulled at one side of his mouth.

“Excuse me,” Benj said to his chatty sisters and cousin. They each nodded vaguely in his direction but paid him no more heed as he left.

He reached the vestibule in time to see the side door closing down the corridor. Clara was heading for the gardens, just as he’d guessed.

Doubts flooded his mind. What if she laughed at him? What if she really didn’t care for him? What if she was going outside to meet again with Matlock?

No. Now was not the time to nurse his insecurities. Out of habit, he reached down to touch his lapel pin for courage before he remembered it’d been missing this morning. He would press forward without it.

If the army had taught him anything, it was that some battles were worth the risk.

CLARA RAN OUT the side door of the town house so fast that one of her thin shoes snagged on a branch and tripped her, flinging her to the ground.

Her palms stung as she caught herself under one of the largest trees in the garden, shrouded by its long, drooping boughs.

Her decision wasn’t supposed to be this hard. It’d never been this hard to stick with her resolve. She had to clear her head, and coming here was the only way she knew how.

But as her smarting hands sent pain signals to her mind, her eyes focused on the ground. There, in front of her was something small and white, the filtered light glancing off of it so that it shined. She stuck out one hand and grasped it.

Ivory, connected to a metal post. Benj’s lapel pin.

She picked it up and forced herself to continue to the small gazebo.

But as she analyzed the feel of it in her hand, moisture started to gather in her eyes.

Heading for her favorite bench in the gazebo, she couldn’t remember the last time she’d cried.

Not tears of sadness nor happiness. Even when hurt or belittled by her late husband or father, she’d held back all her tears. But now . . .

“Clara.”

The shade from the afternoon sun covered her, and the familiar voice caused her to whip around.

“Benj.” Her voice was hardly above a whisper.

“I thought you never cried.”

“Me, too.” Somehow, she found the strength to push away a tear. Extending her hand, she held out the lapel pin on her palm.

“You must have dropped this.”

He glanced down and nodded, taking it from her. Just his touch on her raw, exposed skin exacerbated her agony. He was so close—but he needed to be so far away.

He added the pin to his jacket, and with his other hand, he held out a tart to her. “You forgot this.” His smile—warm and inviting and with his own kind of sunshine—radiated through the fresh air. “You always eat at least three of these when we have tea with Georgie.”

“I do not.”

“Yes, you do,” he insisted as he thrust it toward her. She reluctantly cupped her hands around it and took it from him, trying not to touch him.

“I can tell you want your space,” he continued speaking. “But let me just speak my piece, and I will leave you to your dessert.”

His eyes bored into hers as he took one step closer.

“I told you I’d meet you at your own pace.

And I understand perhaps you have reasons why you don’t want to be with me now.

” He shifted his weight onto his back foot.

“I just hope you know that, in matters of love and marriage, you have the ability to choose. Really choose. A good marriage ought to include trust and vulnerability. You deserve someone who lifts you out of your troubles, and when the time comes, you raise him from his.” He scratched at his forehead and glanced down at his jacket.

“You don’t have to be the brooch. The ivory is just as beautiful. ”

Clara couldn’t find a single word. She just stared at him, dumbfounded. In a very tangible way, Matlock would lift her burdens. He alone understood the gravity of her debt and was willing to make up the difference.

Except . . . maybe her money wasn’t her real need. Maybe if her properties fell apart, it wouldn’t be her undoing.

Maybe being without Benj would be.

He raked a hand through his hair and clamped his eyes shut for a moment before continuing. “Just know, I’m confident in my love for you. And if you can love me back, I’d want you to be mine forever.”

Her hands tightened around the tart, threatening to crush it.

“Goodbye.” He bowed his head slightly and said no more as he walked away.