a person. Who we are at any given moment is a combination of our past experiences, present situation, and potential future. It’s not stagnant. The person you no longer liked wasn’t the same bright-eyed recruit who joined, or the man you became when you came home.”
“A vegetable,” he said wryly.
She shook her head. “Not a vegetable. A man searching for answers. I don’t know if you found any. Perhaps there are none to find. But whatever you had become, you no longer are. No one is ever the person they were even six months prior. The mere fact of disliking what you’d become inherently changed you for the better.”
He ran a hand over his face, then let his head fall back against the chair. “I don’t feel better.”
“Another sign that you’re human. Soldiers protect the greater good. The acts they’re called to perform are unpleasant, but their hearts are in the right place.”
“Don’t both sides think so?” He rubbed the bridge of his nose. How he wished the experience had merely been unpleasant .
Her brow wrinkled in concern. “Are you… sympathizing with Napoleon?”
“I’m condemning war in general.” He massaged the back of his neck. “And now it’s my turn to ask a question.”
Her lips scrunched as if she were physically holding herself back from pressing further, but she nodded and lifted a hand for him to continue.
Splendid. Now if only he had a question. Mostly he hadn’t wanted to discuss the war, much less his feelings about it. Curse this game. The good news was that she only had one question left. The bad news was that he still had two to go.
At least… it should’ve felt like bad news. When they’d sat down to play what he’d assumed was frivolous nonsense, there weren’t many things he’d wished to do less. But somehow, the fire had dwindled without him noticing.
What had begun as a silly challenge was now a very real, very personal conversation. He found himself not wishing to “waste” questions on trivial topics. Miss Downing was clever and insightful and utterly impossible, and he wanted to know everything about her.
He leaned forward. “My circle of friends is infamous, but I know nothing about yours. Who are your closest friends?”
“Books.” She tapped herself on the chest. “Bluestocking, remember?”
Her flippancy surprised him. “I asked a real question.”
“I gave a real answer.”
“A one-word answer.” What had she said to him earlier? He held his palms wide. “Care to elaborate?”
No, she didn’t look as though she did. Her arms were folded beneath her chest and her gaze was on the ebbing fire. But then she raised her eyes to his.
“My brother has his own responsibilities to deal with. Grace is married. I’ll see her at the Theatre Royal in less than a fortnight for Cymon , but we’ll be paying attention to the stage, not each other. I have no other family or friends. Which leaves... books.” She paused.
He watched her in silence.
“I love books.” She smiled in the direction of their feet. “I truly do. They may not love me back, but it feels like they do while I’m reading them. Spending the afternoon with a favorite character gives me more time with someone than I usually get in a month. Before I met Grace, books were the best and only friends I’d had for years. So I spend all the time with them that I can.”
“Until now,” he said softly.
Her laugh was humorless. “Until I turned up on your doorstep without my library in tow?”
“No.” He kept his voice was low and warm. “Apart from Lady Carlisle, the characters you read about were your only friends… until now. Now you have me, too.”
Firelight splashed across her startled face.
The back of his neck heated. Embarrassed, he waved a hand. “Your turn. Last question.”
Contemplative, she returned her gaze to the fire. When she spoke, her words were so soft he could barely hear them. But he couldn’t escape them.
“What precisely occurred to
“A vegetable,” he said wryly.
She shook her head. “Not a vegetable. A man searching for answers. I don’t know if you found any. Perhaps there are none to find. But whatever you had become, you no longer are. No one is ever the person they were even six months prior. The mere fact of disliking what you’d become inherently changed you for the better.”
He ran a hand over his face, then let his head fall back against the chair. “I don’t feel better.”
“Another sign that you’re human. Soldiers protect the greater good. The acts they’re called to perform are unpleasant, but their hearts are in the right place.”
“Don’t both sides think so?” He rubbed the bridge of his nose. How he wished the experience had merely been unpleasant .
Her brow wrinkled in concern. “Are you… sympathizing with Napoleon?”
“I’m condemning war in general.” He massaged the back of his neck. “And now it’s my turn to ask a question.”
Her lips scrunched as if she were physically holding herself back from pressing further, but she nodded and lifted a hand for him to continue.
Splendid. Now if only he had a question. Mostly he hadn’t wanted to discuss the war, much less his feelings about it. Curse this game. The good news was that she only had one question left. The bad news was that he still had two to go.
At least… it should’ve felt like bad news. When they’d sat down to play what he’d assumed was frivolous nonsense, there weren’t many things he’d wished to do less. But somehow, the fire had dwindled without him noticing.
What had begun as a silly challenge was now a very real, very personal conversation. He found himself not wishing to “waste” questions on trivial topics. Miss Downing was clever and insightful and utterly impossible, and he wanted to know everything about her.
He leaned forward. “My circle of friends is infamous, but I know nothing about yours. Who are your closest friends?”
“Books.” She tapped herself on the chest. “Bluestocking, remember?”
Her flippancy surprised him. “I asked a real question.”
“I gave a real answer.”
“A one-word answer.” What had she said to him earlier? He held his palms wide. “Care to elaborate?”
No, she didn’t look as though she did. Her arms were folded beneath her chest and her gaze was on the ebbing fire. But then she raised her eyes to his.
“My brother has his own responsibilities to deal with. Grace is married. I’ll see her at the Theatre Royal in less than a fortnight for Cymon , but we’ll be paying attention to the stage, not each other. I have no other family or friends. Which leaves... books.” She paused.
He watched her in silence.
“I love books.” She smiled in the direction of their feet. “I truly do. They may not love me back, but it feels like they do while I’m reading them. Spending the afternoon with a favorite character gives me more time with someone than I usually get in a month. Before I met Grace, books were the best and only friends I’d had for years. So I spend all the time with them that I can.”
“Until now,” he said softly.
Her laugh was humorless. “Until I turned up on your doorstep without my library in tow?”
“No.” He kept his voice was low and warm. “Apart from Lady Carlisle, the characters you read about were your only friends… until now. Now you have me, too.”
Firelight splashed across her startled face.
The back of his neck heated. Embarrassed, he waved a hand. “Your turn. Last question.”
Contemplative, she returned her gaze to the fire. When she spoke, her words were so soft he could barely hear them. But he couldn’t escape them.
“What precisely occurred to
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