He took Jane's hand in a warm clasp, and they walked in silence for a while. "So, Jane," he said at last, "you find that you wish to put an end to our betrothal?"
"Oh," she said, looking at him stricken. "It sounds quite dreadful when you put it into words like that."
"But true?" he prodded gently.
She stared at him. "It is not because I do not like and respect you, Joseph," she said. "In fact, I think it is because I feel a deep affection for you that I cannot marry you. I would make you unhappy."
"Yes, you would, dear," he said. "It makes me very unhappy to see you miserable."
"I feel so wretched," she said. "How can I do this to you? I was so sure that I wished to marry you and that I would be prepared to spend my life making you comfortable."
"Perhaps I do not wish to be comfortable after all, Jane," he said. "Comfort can be pretty dull really, don't you think? And don't blame yourself, dear. You were honest with me, remember. You told me at the time you loved another man. You cannot forget him?"
She shook her head.
"Is there any hope, Jane?" he asked curiously. "Will you marry him now?"
"Oh no," she said earnestly. "No. I shall never marry, Joseph. I did not decide to break my engagement to you only because I saw a more desirable chance for myself. I would far prefer to marry you than to face the life I must now face. But I could not do it, you see."
"My offer still stands, Jane," he said. "I will not ask more of you than you can give. If you wish to marry me, you must consider only our own desires. I have stated my wish to have you as my wife.On any terms that you dictate."
She stared at him. "How very dear you are, Joseph," she said. "You deserve a wife who will love you with a whole and devoted heart. I hope you will meet her someday. I really do. Thank you.But no.I cannot do it." She lifted his hand and laid it against her cheek. "I just wish I did not have to put you through the great embarrassment now of a publicly broken engagement. Oh, I do wish it."
He smiled. "I have never cared a fig for London gossip, Jane," he said. "You must not worry about that. What will you do now?"
"I shall leave tomorrow," she said. "The mail coach leaves at noon. It will be better than the stage for Honor."
He raised his eyebrows. "Miss Jamieson goes too?" he asked.
"Yes," she said. "I told her before dinner. She did not seem nearly as upset as I expected. She must be missing Aunt Cynthia and Uncle Alfred.And the life of London, of course."
He nodded. "You have told Fairfax?"
"No," she said. "I had hoped to do so tonight, but I shall have to leave it until morning now."
"Does he know, Jane?"
"No," she said, bewildered. "I just said—"
"I mean about your ending your engagement," he said.
"How could he?" she said. "I am only now speaking to you."
He looked searchingly into her eyes and nodded slightly. "Do you feel calm enough to go inside?" he asked. "I don't think I do. Shall we sit in the rose garden for a while? You need not make conversation if you would rather not. We are friends enough to sit in comfortable silence for a while, are we not, Jane?"
"Yes," she said.
They sat side by side on a wrought-iron seat, their shoulders touching, breathing in the heavy scent of the roses.
"Jane," he said, "I want to write to you. May I? I want to be sure that you are not terribly lonely and unhappy in Yorkshire. You are my friend, you know.And perhaps a little more than a friend."
"So I will share a little in your travels after all?" she said with a wan smile. "Is this just kindness, Joseph?"
"Not at all," he said. "I do not see my friends nearly as much as I should perhaps. But I keep them through my letters. I am quite an expert correspondent, you know. Ask Fairfax. I shall continue my friendship with both of you through letters. Shall I? Perhaps I shall be able to give you some news of each other now and then. And give you news of the children. You love them, do you not?"
She looked at him with some suspicion, but there was nothing in his eyes but his usual kindly smile.
"I would like to hear from you, Joseph, and write to you," she said. "Until you marry, that is. Not after that. I would not wish your wife to misunderstand."
