“Please.”
Jasper lowers to the ground, carefully flattening his coattails under him. I seat myself with far less fanfare, and Jasper’s eyes skip down my legs, throat bobbing as he takes in my lack of stockings.
“Does it scandalize you? To see me dressed so?”
“No.” He says it on a breath, grabbing the cloth-wrapped bread and beginning to unwrap it. “I’m unused to it, is all. My family would not allow for such.”
The admission by no means surprises me. Jasper’s station demands a certain decorum. From the buckles on his shoes to the fine stitching on his clothing, it’s clear to me—and was from the moment I first saw him—that Jasper and I are from different worlds.
Him sitting beside me now is nothing short of a miracle.
“You could remove your stockings here,” I offer, watching Jasper’s stillness closely. “And your coat. If you’d like.”
His chest rises and falls, the bread in his hands temporarily forgotten. His eyes dart to me, and I can see him weighing his options. Deciding on what would be right.
Slowly, he sets the bread down, keeping the cloth beneath the underside of the loaf. With trembling fingers, he removes one shoe and then the other. Ever so carefully, he lifts the hem of his breeches and rolls his stocking down and off his foot. He repeats the process on the other side, leaving his feet as bare as mine. His eyes dart to me once more before he shrugs his heavy coat off his shoulders, placing it on the grass beside him.
He looks pounds lighter, even with his waistcoat in place over his fine linen shirt.
“Feel better?”
His exhale sounds almost like a laugh. “Yes.”
With a smile aimed my way, he continues unwrapping the bread, revealing with it a small jar of honey. I nearly groan, only managing to keep the sound within myself by the skin of my teeth. Jasper breaks the bread into two pieces, offering me one before uncapping the honey pot.
We take turns pouring the sweet liquid on our bread and biting off mouthfuls. It’s divine. I can’t remember the last time I tasted honey.
Jasper chews his bite fully before speaking. “You live close?”
I nod, letting my toes stretch down toward the edge of the creek, the gentle breeze today welcome. “The walk here is short. Is it far for you?”
“Yes, it is. But I’m glad for it.” He laughs once, the sound light. “I’m grateful to get away. Is that terrible? It feels terrible to admit.”
“No,” I say softly. “I understand.”
His face falls. “Oh, Abraham. I’m sorry. You must think me horribly ungrateful. I don’t mean to sound unappreciative of what I’ve been afforded in life, I truly don’t. It’s only…”
Jasper breaks off, looking surprised by my hand on his bare ankle, his skin warm beneath my fingers and palm. I give him a gentle squeeze. “Think nothing of it,” I tell him before letting go, loath to do so. “I only meant because of my mother’s condition. It’s a guilty pleasure, taking a few moments for myself when I know I should be home, caring for her. Do you think that terrible of me?”
Jasper seems to consider this, which I find fascinating. I think I would rather enjoy trying to unravel the way this man’s mind works and find myself desperate to succeed in doing so. “What is wrong with her?”
“She’s lost the use of her legs,” I say, pouring a few drops of honey on my last piece of bread. “She cannot work. Can scarcely get around.”
“Abe.” Jasper’s tone is soft, the sound of that single syllable spoken so casually yet with such familiarity nearly stealing my breath away. “I’m so sorry. She relies on you.”
It’snot a question, but I answer nonetheless. “Yes, she does. I love her dearly. Please don’t mistake me on that. And I don’t fault her in any way. But sometimes… I wish for the impossible.”
“And what’s that?”
I hum lightly, dusting flour off my fingertips. “Freedom, I suppose. Choice.”
Jasper gives a slow nod, his hand twitching as if his impulse is to reach for me. I wish he would. “I don’t think you terrible, Abraham. I think you human.”
A small smile lifts my lips. “So you see now why I couldn’t think you terrible, either?”
He lets out a quiet laugh, licking a drop of honey off his thumb before closing the glass pot. “Except that my circumstances are not your own.”
“And what are yours?”
