He placed the roses at his mother’s grave.
Emily remained beside Eleanor’s stone.
After a while Daniel returned to her side.
“There is something I have wanted to ask,” he said.
Emily’s heart quickened, and she resented herself for it.
“Then ask.”
“Would you permit me to visit the reading room on Sundays?”
She stared at him.
“Why Sundays?”
“Because you are usually there repairing something, and I am usually inventing an excuse to help.”
Emily laughed.
“That is an extraordinarily poor strategy for a man who manages railway companies.”
“I am beginning to suspect that business has not prepared me for this.”
She looked at the roses and then at his face.
“You may visit on Sundays,” she said.
“But you must not reorganize my shelves.”
“I would not dare.”
He kept his promise for almost a month.
They repaired desks, sorted donations, and argued amiably about whether adventure stories encouraged recklessness.
Daniel believed children should be allowed to imagine impossible journeys.
Emily believed children should also be taught how to find their way home.
Neither changed the other’s mind.
Their friendship grew through ordinary labor rather than grand gestures.
He learned that she hummed when she was concentrating.
She learned that he disliked being called Your Grace by people he considered friends.
He discovered that she had a sharp sense of humor hidden beneath years of careful silence.
She discovered that he sometimes doubted his own judgment and was willing to admit it.
One Sunday, while they were carrying a desk through the doorway, Daniel asked whether she would dine with him at Westmere House.
Emily stopped so suddenly that the desk struck his knee.
He winced and tried not to show it.
“Is this a formal invitation?” she asked.
“It can be whatever makes you comfortable.”
“Then I should prefer luncheon with your housekeeper present.”
Daniel nodded.
“Mrs. Hart will be delighted to supervise my manners.”
Westmere House stood on a wooded rise overlooking the river.
It was larger than Oak Haven but felt strangely less oppressive.
The windows were clean, the fires warm, and the servants moved without flinching when their employer entered a room.
Mrs. Hart, a formidable woman with a kindly face, welcomed Emily as if she were a guest rather than a curiosity.
She showed her the library before luncheon.
It contained thousands of books, but Emily noticed the reading lamps placed beside comfortable chairs.
Someone had designed the room to be used, not merely admired.
