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T he first days of Ophelia’s absence were hard enough, but by the time the second week was crawling toward him, Silas felt he might go mad.

He missed her at all hours of the day, inconveniently; the sound of the horses in their traces reminded him of her capability, the empty chair at meals, her conversation, the Ophelia-scented spot on his pillow, her body under his.

It was all a bloody disaster. Her letters had come, just as she promised, but they spoke mostly of the tangle of the estate.

Her father had gambled away much of the land, and the estate was in significant debt.

She wrote that Mr. Bone was looking through her father and mother’s wills and had promised to have news within a few days.

Silas hoped that at least that part of her family might be straightforward.

A new letter sat waiting for him when he returned for lunch from the field where he was repairing fences. His heart lifted to see Ophelia’s handwriting and he broke the seal quickly.

Dear Silas,

I received your letter by the afternoon post the day before last and have been carrying it with me so that I might reread it at my leisure.

It seems to me that if you are unable to make a living farming, there is good potential for you as a romantic novelist; your words made me positively shiver.

I miss you more than I thought possible; everything here reminds me of you and what you sacrificed for my sake.

I wish we could take one of our old walks and talk everything through.

I await word from Mr. Bone, but in the meantime, Mrs. Greene and I are packing up the house and putting aside anything that might be of value to be sold.

It is a sobering thing to be here again under these circumstances, and I can’t help but wish that this house, the land, might be put to better use than it has been under my father.

I will write as soon as I hear from Mr. Bone.

Yours, yours, yours,

Ophelia

PS: Give my love to Bess, Hannah, and Mrs. Darling.

He tucked it into the pocket of his trousers, sliding the slim paper down against his thigh so it wouldn’t slip out while he was working.

Finishing the last bite of his bread, he was rising from the table when Bess and Hannah came into the kitchen.

They clattered about pouring tea, cutting bread and cheese, settling themselves at the table.

“Any letter today?” Hannah asked. “You and Ophelia are surely keeping the Royal Mail in business lately.”

Bess and Silas laughed. “One from her today, as it happens.”

“How are things progressing with the estate?” Bess asked.

“About the same, it seems. She and Mrs. Greene are making headway and there’s no word from Mr. Bone yet. She said she misses you all,” he added. “It’s hard for her to be there alone, all those bad memories.”

“I know Ophelia a little now, and she’s not one to shirk her duties,” said Bess.

“There’s more than just her father’s death in those buildings,” said Hannah. “She’ll be properly closing the door on her old life, if I had to guess.”

Silas nodded, trying to understand the shorthand that seemed to pass between the friends.

He should have understood from their conversations that Ophelia would want to finish this off neatly; it was not only the bad memories of her father there, but also her mother’s legacy.

He had thought that he might take on the burdens of her life for her; take on her father, protect her from what Merritt was capable of doing to hurt her, but she didn’t need him to shield her from her life.

Ophelia needed him to support her in it, to take the journey with her, not instead of her.

He wanted to tell her that he understood now, and that he could see that he needed her beside him, too.

The war and his injury had shattered his confidence, made him doubt what he had to offer, but in his time on the farm, he had realized that he could be flexible, could adopt new ways of thinking, understand his role as a man differently.

“You’re right, Hannah,” he said, something coalescing in his mind. “And I want to be there with her when she opens the door to her new one.”

“Course you do.” Hannah’s smile was crooked and kind. “Been wondering when you’d realize it.”

“You could be there and back in two days, so the inspection could still go as planned. If we keep the horses fed and watered while you’re away, we could pick up again as soon as you’re back,” Bess offered.

“Thank you both so much.”

“We’re happy to.” She lifted her teacup to Silas in a mock salute and winked.

He laughed and returned the gesture. “Best speak with Mrs. D. about this, then.”

The following morning, they all breakfasted together, reminding each other of any tasks that needed looking to while both he and Ophelia were away.

Mrs. Darling seemed as excited and nervous as he felt and kept assuring herself that he had everything he needed.

Silas returned to the house from his room with his satchel to find Hannah standing at the kitchen door. She had an odd look on her face.

“What is it, Hann—” he began.

“I don’t know if you’ve need of a token,” Hannah blurted, cheeks pink, “but I thought this might be useful.” She pushed a thin silver band into Silas’s hand.

“’Twas mine when I were in the movement in London, and I thought Ophelia might appreciate the sentiment.

Only if you feel the same, o’ course,” she added hastily.

Silas looked at the slender band in his palm, noticing an inscription on the inside of the metal. Lifting it, he made out “deeds not words” in minute script. He looked up to Hannah’s face, stern, but also expectant, with a softness in her eyes that he was beginning to notice more often.

“It’s lovely, Hannah ... I don’t know what to say. Are you sure you’re willing to part with it?”

“I’m sure,” she said, pressing his hand closed around it.

“Ophelia is lucky to be loved by you, for you do love her, don’t you?

” She waved her hand when his face heated.

“It’s none of my business, really, but it was a new beginning for me when I got this ring, perhaps it can be the same for the two of you? ”

He thought about this silver encircling Ophelia’s finger, about what it meant to belong to another person, how one might ask another to share themselves, their future, their body.

He wondered if a ring like this, given in friendship, could be a token of something new, not a marriage born of the past?

It occurred to him that he might offer his protection not to provision a house or shield Ophelia from strife, but to provide room for her to be herself, to discover all she could be in a world that wanted to infringe on her with demands and expectations.

Perhaps, he could be her champion instead of her husband.

Silas wondered what she imagined their future might look like without the bonds of marriage.

He tended to be more comfortable with known situations, boundaries he could see, and this was one more instance where Ophelia was asking him to step out into the void with her.

To his surprise, he found himself excited to ask her what she saw for them.

He felt himself smiling, a bloom of warmth spreading through his chest.

“Thank you,” he said with a laugh. He grasped her strong hand in his and squeezed. “Thank you, Hannah.”

She nodded, smiling broadly. “You’re a good man, Silas Larke. To be sure, men are not of interest to me generally, but in you I begin to see the appeal.”

Silas slipped the ring in his waistcoat pocket, picked up his case, and nodding to Hannah, hurried out the door. He could hear Mrs. Darling and Bess calling “Good luck!” as he headed down the drive.