He was handsome in a way that made her uncomfortable because she'd never been permitted to admit such things about men who worked for her father.
He looked nothing like Victor Caldwell.
Victor was polished.
Carefully groomed.
Always conscious of how others perceived him.
Daniel looked like a man who could survive a winter without anybody approving of his appearance.
Elizabeth turned away.
“How far is the cabin?”
“Another two hours.”
She nodded.
“Is it very small?”
“Yes.”
“Does it have a proper kitchen?”
“A stove. A table. A cupboard.”
“A bathroom?”
Daniel hesitated.
“Not the kind you're accustomed to.”
She closed her eyes.
He continued gently.
“There's a washroom area, and I've arranged privacy for you. Water has to be heated.”
Elizabeth stared toward the road.
Then asked, “Are there servants?”
Daniel laughed once.
Not mockingly.
Almost apologetically.
“No.”
Her cheeks reddened.
She looked down.
Daniel glanced toward her.
“I'm sorry.”
She shook her head.
“No. I asked.”
For several minutes, they rode quietly.
Then Elizabeth asked another question.
“Why did you agree?”
Daniel's hands tightened slightly on the reins.
They had already spoken about the marriage in the garden.
But he understood what she meant.
Why would a man with nothing accept responsibility for a woman whose father intended to humiliate them both?
He considered the answer.
“Because I believed your father would choose someone else if I refused.”
She looked toward him.
“And?”
He hesitated.
“And I thought I could give you a place where you wouldn't be frightened every time somebody opened a door.”
Elizabeth stared.
The words were so simple.
Yet they struck painfully close to something she'd never admitted aloud.
In her father's house, she had learned to recognize footsteps.
The judge's heavy stride.
Victor's confident approach.
The quick steps of servants trying not to be noticed.
She knew the sound of her father's study door opening when he was angry.
She knew the way her mother's voice changed when she was afraid of provoking him.