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Yet here was Miss Lockhart—whom he had all but discounted as a woman unworthy of his attention—trying to make amends for something in which he shared the blame.

He knew she had seen something in him, something she valued deeply, even if only as a friend.

And he had missed it completely. That was why the gift had been a disaster.

He had quite misread her and her interest in little, winged creatures.

She hadn’t even been angry. No, not angry. Devastated. She had appeared quite broken, as if a sacred trust had been trampled upon.

Despite her profound hurt and disappointment, Miss Verity Lockhart had come to sense his hurt and disappointment.

She must have been quite haunted by the thought of it for her to reach out after all this time.

William could not fathom such uncommon decency on his behalf.

It made him more than a little ashamed of the way he had deserted her without so much as a goodbye.

And he had allowed his recollection of her to remain tainted by his own conceit ever since.

He returned to the letter, humbled and contrite and amazed at her good nature.

Mama has tried her best to make me into someone she can present to society with confidence. I remain, however, somewhat of a disappointment.

Her words stuck in his throat, as if it were he who had spoken them. In essence, Miss Lockhart and he were the same. An enigma to their parents. Playing a role they did not wish to sustain.

My strangeness is no secret in Fernbridge, where everyone has seen my sketches of insects or come across me at the pond or along a stream, seeking my next subject to study and then release with envy at its freedom.

William remembered how she always set her little models free.

And how she had spoken of them with… What was it?

Yes… With love. While her sketches might have been scientific, there was something else she had been trying to capture.

Something—she had said it now—that she had envied.

And her chasing after this had cast her as a figure most strange.

It was this very strangeness that had given them a connection. She had not been afraid to question his motives, to confront his disguise, perhaps because she saw someone else who was hiding from themselves.

Suddenly, everything Miss Lockhart had to say was precious, urgent, vital. She understood him. Now he wanted to understand her. To see her, as she had truly seen him.

Mr. Cole had not thought me strange. He had seen a woman of science who received no encouragement and he had tried to offer me a measure of it in his own way.

So she had grasped his motive!

Dear Mrs. Trenton, how can I explain my reaction without seeming spoiled and ungrateful?

You are a woman of quality. I am not formed or polished to the same caliber.

Everything I desire seems contrary to the norms of society.

Your brother was wise to sever his association with me.

I am an odd countrywoman who yearns for the freedom of fields, while my mind is filled with detailed observations that would bore guests who must suffer my company.

All I could see in Mr. Cole’s carefully chosen gift was a rare and wonderful creature that was trapped, pinned on display forever — a rare being that was to be owned without being understood.

I’m afraid I rather saw myself in this butterfly, though I would not go so far as to call myself a wonderful creature.

But Mr. Cole is certainly not to blame for being unable to read my mind.

William could read no more. His breathing grew tight as he fully grasped Miss Lockhart’s pain.

He knew it all too well. Except he had escaped some of the loathsome constraints merely by being a man.

He could follow his own will. And if he so desired, he could choose a wife who must grant him his leave as he wished it, to have a drink with the lads, to ride his horse, to leave his family and go to war.

It would not be the sort of wife he wanted, but it was possible to marry and resume his individual interests.

What he did want, he now realized with great surprise, was someone like Miss Verity Lockhart. A woman who was true to herself even if it drew judgment from others. A partner who would accept him as he was, who would fight on his behalf.

But she didn’t want him, did she? He had been childish, petty, selfish.

How could he expect to have a great love—one for the ages—if he didn’t pay better attention to what his lady truly needed?

That was exactly how he had lost Ellena.

He hadn’t understood until this very moment.

And he had made the same mistake with Miss Lockhart.

At least, he told his mortified conscience, he had not betrayed Miss Lockhart as fully as he had done Ellena.

Fool that he was, he had not seen his actions as treachery then.

Oh, no, he had convinced himself of his noble intent.

It would have been laughable if it weren’t so humiliatingly dishonest. Small wonder she had been aghast at his declaration of love.

He could see it so clearly now. It filled him with a deep sense of disgrace.

He was almost too afraid to read further. Afraid of the shame he would feel as Miss Lockhart apologized for overreacting. If he had spent more time really listening, he wouldn’t have put her in that position in the first place. They could have remained friends. They might have become more.

He must read on. Learn the full lesson. Never make that mistake again.

His gaze returned to the letter. There were but a few lines remaining.

My humble request is for you to return this rare butterfly to your brother, that he might gift it to someone more worthy, or, at the very least, sell it to a collector and regain a measure of the funds he so willingly spent.

And, if you will allow it, let him read these words that I may unburden myself of the sorrow I feel at having hurt him.

I behaved badly. And I regret it deeply.

Having lost his friendship was a high price to pay for a moment’s folly.

Yours in good faith,

Verity Lockhart

There it was. The olive branch. A reason to hope.

An opportunity to recapture a fledgling friendship.

William could think of nothing he wanted more in the world.

He had missed out on making her his wife, but to have her as a friend would be the next best thing.

Like his sister, Miss Lockhart would brook no nonsense from him.

But, just like Charlotte, she would also accept him as he was.

In exchange, he wanted to be her champion.

He could lend his worldly knowledge to her debut season, guiding her through the pitfalls of Munro society.

With the necessary chaperoning, of course.

He would not have her reputation tarnished.

William felt a surge of purpose. But he would not forget the lesson learned. Action, yes, but listening also. A lot more listening. And maybe his next venture into romance would be the stuff of legends, the lifelong passion that he so craved.

“You are smiling.” Charlotte’s voice broke through his thoughts. “I am amazed. I did not think there was much humor in the letter.”

“No, not humor,” William answered. “Truth.”

“And the truth makes you smile?”

“It does. There is pain, and regret, but also a new goal.”

Charlotte cocked her head to one side. “May I ask the nature of this goal?”

“To be a better friend, if Miss Lockhart will allow it.”

Charlotte clapped her hands in delight. “I knew you would do the right thing!”

“Did you?” William’s brow furrowed, his eyebrows drawn together in confusion. “How could you know it with such certainty when I have but come to that conclusion myself this very minute?”

His sister’s eyes sparkled. “Because I know you , William. You like to play the scoundrel, but you are a good soul, dear brother. And if you are going to put your youthful energy to good use, I am all for it. In fact, I know exactly when and where you and Miss Lockhart may rekindle your friendship.”

“You do?” William’s eyebrows rose and his lips quirked into a pout.

“I do. The Macraes are having a ball in a few weeks. And I happen to know that Miss Lockhart and her sister will be in attendance. Her first ball of the season, I believe. You could use the occasion to accept her apology. And offer one of your own, perhaps?”

William felt oddly nervous at the prospect. He did not want this one chance to go awry. “Will you be there?” he asked, his forehead pleated with uncertainty.

“She doesn’t want to leave the children,” James piped up. “We’ve hardly been to a single gathering since our daughter was born. And I will not go without her. I did tell you I was being sorely neglected.”

“We-ell.” Charlotte hesitated. “I suppose if it’s for a good cause…”

“Hmph,” grumbled James. “It is clear my happiness has not been cause enough.”

Charlotte half-turned in his direction. “Oh, do stop complaining, James dear. It is not as though you were deprived of my company. Only the company of others. And I did say we should have friends to dinner, here, in our home. I simply am not ready to abandon my little cherub to the nurse completely, coming home in the early hours and too exhausted the next day to give our children any attention.”

James remained silent and sullen.

Charlotte slipped across the room and hunched down by his chair. “Mr. Trenton,” she said softly, “will you do me the honor of escorting me to the Macraes’ ball? I would be so happy if you did. I have not been out in ages and it would do me good to dance upon your arm.”

William watched as James fought to stay welded to his mood.

“What about the children? You will spend the night fretting about their wellbeing.”

“I shall endeavor not to,” came the reasonable reply. “You will be the perfect distraction.”

Warmth returned to her husband’s eyes.