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M arcus Cole paced irately across the floor of his study. His wife lingered beside his desk, her hands clasped at her narrow waist, anxious eyes upon their son.

William stood waiting like a soldier at ease. His fists flexed behind his back, but his face showed no emotion.

“What do you mean, you won’t go back?” his father demanded. “You promised to call on them every week. It’s already Thursday. They will be expecting you.”

“I don’t see the point.”

“You don’t see the…” Mr. Cole turned to his wife, an arm waving in agitation. “Do you hear that, Harriet? He doesn’t see the point.”

“William,” his mother responded in her usual dulcet tone, her voice several degrees calmer, but concern equally evident in her tone.

“Miss Lockhart is about to come out, at which time you may court her formally. It will be much easier then. You could enjoy a ride alone—in an open carriage, of course. You could discuss your future together. You will see. It will not be so awkward.”

“Honestly, Mother, I cannot imagine anything more awkward.”

“What can you mean, William? You have never been uncomfortable around young women before.”

“I haven’t considered marriage to any of them before, either.” Except Ellena . But they never needed to know that.

“You haven’t considered marriage because you never take anything seriously,” his father grumbled. “In six months, you will be of age, but you still act like a schoolboy. You lark about all day with not the slightest direction in your life.”

William clenched his jaw. “I have asked if I might apply for a military commission through my uncle, but you will not hear of it.”

“The military is just another of your schemes to play at being a man. It’s all about riding your horse and carousing with the men.”

“I would be serving king and country. Is that not what you expect of me?”

William’s mother clutched his arm so suddenly, it startled him.

“Please don’t speak of going to war.” Her eyes were wide and pleading. “Some of our lads don’t even reach the American continent and are drowned at sea. Many others fight and die on foreign soil.” She shook her head sadly. “So many good lives have been lost.”

“I suppose I am quite safe, then,” William answered, “since you are both convinced I have no redeeming qualities.”

His mother flinched. “Do not say such things. You are our own, dear boy.” Her chin began to tremble. “We would never want any harm to come to you.”

“Which is why,” his father added, “we are trying to save you from yourself. It is time you settled into respectability. Marriage and a dignified occupation will develop in you a greater soberness of character. Without it, you are likely to fritter away your youth on gambling and womanizing.” He rubbed the back of his neck and let out a long sigh.

“Quite frankly, I do not understand how you have allowed yourself to succumb to all manner of decadence. We have given you careful example, taught you the value of virtue.”

A sneer slid across William’s lips. “You mean, I have not behaved like Lawrence. Surely, with such perfection in one son, you might have expected disappointment in the other.”

William’s father halted his patrolling of the floor. He looked hard at his youngest child, as if searching for the truth.

“Your brother is not perfect,” he said eventually. “He has made errors of judgment over the years. But he has learned from his mistakes. If only you could…”

“Be half the man he is?” William asked bitterly.

His father straightened to his full height, which was not particularly tall. But the motion was one William knew well. It was always the precursor to an indignant lecture on his terrible attitude. He held up his hand to stop his father’s inevitable speech.

“Don’t bother. I’ve heard it all before—I should know better; I should reach higher.

I am an unmitigated mystery to you. Lawrence learned these lessons, so why can’t I?

Well, I’ll tell you why, Father. I am not Lawrence.

I have different interests, different needs.

I want to take the road less traveled, for better or worse.

You think that if I enter the clergy, I will conform to your pious expectations.

But I won’t. I will merely be a terrible vicar.

And everyone in the community will know I am a terrible vicar.

They will resent me for it because they could have had someone who cared, but I was too unprincipled to resist your wishes.

That, you see, is the extent of my good character—to know my weaknesses and not foist them on others. ”

A long silence followed these words. William was amazed there was no immediate retort from his father.

His mother would not have spoken while his father scolded.

But, even now, while her husband remained mute, she, too, said nothing.

William’s earlier rash words had injured her deeply.

He’d known they would. But he was sick of holding back the resentment that bubbled and frothed within.

He would make amends to her later. She deserved as much.

But right here and now, he would stand his ground.

He watched his father, expecting the flood waters to burst any moment. The air in the room thickened.

Mr. Cole stood motionless at first. Then, with a slow collapse of his shoulders, his gaze fell.

His mouth softened. His breathing slowed.

His entire body gave in to a gradual resignation.

“I see you cannot be persuaded,” he murmured.

He turned, found the arm of a chair and, reaching down, allowed it to guide him into the seat.

“Very well,” he said, “I will write to your uncle. If a commission can be purchased, we will see that it is done.”

William held his breath. It was happening.

It was finally happening! He wanted to rush forward and embrace his parents with joy and gratitude.

But they were so downcast, he resisted the urge.

No matter, no matter. They would soon recover.

They would see his excitement as he prepared for the life he wanted.

They would realize the wisdom of their decision.

At last, he was free of all restrictive expectations!

“But what of Miss Lockhart?”

William’s soaring relief came crashing to the ground at his mother’s question. Numb disappointment echoed in his voice.

“I had assumed you only recommended the match because she was the vicar’s daughter. Now that I am no longer entering the church… she is not… It’s just…” He drew a steadying breath. “I thought to look elsewhere for a match of my own choosing.”

“Why?” His mother’s brow pleated. “I thought you were getting along pleasantly enough.”

William hesitated. “I do not think that sufficient reason to propose marriage.”

“Then you do not have an understanding? She is not expecting to begin a formal courtship with you shortly?”

“Quite the opposite. Even if I asked, I do not think she would have me.”

Mr. Cole muttered from behind his wife, “Even this you have managed poorly. She has all but been offered to you on a plate.”

William stepped to the side so that he might address his father face-to-face.

“She is not the easy prize you might think. I did my best, whether you believe it or not. If she will not have me, what am I to do?”

His mother’s frown deepened. “And you are certain of this? You have spoken to her and she has made her feelings known to you? I must say, William, such premature actions are not proper. Not only should the subject of courtship not have come up, but how have you managed to speak so intimately to her? Surely, her parents have not allowed you to visit without appropriate supervision?”

There were no suitable answers to these questions, William knew.

The conversation by the pond was a secret, at Miss Lockhart’s request. He was not about to betray her confidence.

And the whole butterfly debacle was too painful to relive.

Besides, his parents would tell him he was overreacting—anything to get him back in line with their expectations of him.

No, he was not going to marry Miss Lockhart. And that was final.

“No, Mother,” he replied, “nothing happened to shame either of our families. In short, Miss Lockhart has had no enthusiasm for my visits. She is very studious and quiet. No doubt she senses in me the very same concerning traits Father has so frequently pointed out. There seems little purpose in pursuing someone who does not wish to be pursued.”

A sudden inspiration cheered him, and he spoke it aloud before stopping to think. “Perhaps I will find a wife in the Americas. My military career might prove even more successful than hoped.”

At the mention of the war-ravaged continent, Mrs. Cole grew quiet once again.

Her husband stood and placed his arm gently about her shoulder.

She lifted her hand to touch his, leaning her head toward him.

They stood for several moments, brows touching, in a cocoon of unspoken reassurance. Then Mr. Cole looked up at his son.

“It is no secret that we do not want this for you. We have always assumed our children would take after us and make choices that we see the wisdom of. We do not agree with the path you are treading, nor the future you seek for yourself.” He took a deep breath and released it heavily.

“However, there is one thing you have failed to grasp. Despite the fact that our hopes and yours diverge on almost every point, we still only want your happiness. We worry that the course of action you have sought will ultimately cause you sorrow instead. But there comes a time when one must release the reins of parenthood and pray the horse does not break his leg.”

His face grew flushed. William was amazed to see a film of tears form in his father’s eyes. He watched in confusion as the man—who had only ever shown restraint and composure—now fought to control the tremor in his voice.