She stared.
He looked back at her.
"Do you have Edmund's letters?"
"Some."
"The ones where he promised marriage?"
She nodded.
Gabriel leaned back.
For several seconds, he seemed to be thinking.
Then he asked, "Why didn't you tell me before we married?"
The question struck her differently.
Not because it was unexpected.
Because she'd been asking it of herself since the morning they stood before the minister.
They had married in a modest ceremony in town on the third day after her arrival.
Gabriel wore his cleanest shirt and polished boots.
Clara wore a cream dress she'd altered herself.
There were only three witnesses.
The minister.
His wife.
And the man who had brought Gabriel's wagon from the livery stable.
The ceremony lasted less than twenty minutes.
Gabriel's hands trembled when he placed the ring on Clara's finger.
He looked so hopeful that she nearly stopped the ceremony.
Twice, she opened her mouth.
Twice, fear silenced her.
When they were pronounced husband and wife, he smiled in a way she would never forget.
Not triumphantly.
Not possessively.
With wonder.
As though he'd been handed something fragile and beautiful he had never expected to receive.
Clara kissed his cheek.
He blushed.
Then took her home.
Now she sat across from him, knowing she had allowed him to enter that marriage without information he deserved.
She lowered her head.
"I was afraid you'd send me back."
Gabriel closed his eyes.
"I might have."
The honesty hurt.
But she accepted it.
He continued.
"You should have allowed me to decide."
A tear slipped down her cheek.
"I know."
He looked at her for a long moment.
Then asked quietly, "Did you believe I'd harm you if you told me?"
She shook her head.
"No."
"Then why?"
Her voice trembled.
"Because kindness was the one thing I couldn't afford to lose."
Gabriel looked away.
For a moment, the fire crackled between them.
Clara wiped her cheeks.
She forced herself to continue.
"I arrived expecting a man who wanted a housekeeper and a wife in name. Someone who would give me a room and a place to work."
She looked toward him.
"But you carried my luggage. You asked whether I was cold. You made sure I could lock my door."
Gabriel swallowed.
She continued.
"You waited outside the kitchen when I was ill. You asked whether I'd eaten. You gave me the last peach from the jar because I said it reminded me of summer."
He remembered that.
A small thing.
Barely worth noticing.
Yet she spoke of it as though he'd given her something precious.
Clara's voice broke.
"I began wanting you to like me."
Gabriel looked toward her.
She tried to smile through tears.
"Not because I needed a place to hide. Because I liked you."
For several seconds, he couldn't answer.
Then he lowered his eyes.
"You don't know me well enough."
"I know."
She paused.
"But I wanted to."
Gabriel sat quietly.
The words hurt because he understood them.