Charity stopped dead.

There, in the grove, with his back to the two ladies, seemingly unaware of their presence, was the tall and unmistakeable figure of Mr. Harding.

At first, she looked at Esther to see if she shared her shock, but one glance told her that her friend was not in the least surprised to see Mr. Harding in this place where he could hardly have been waiting by coincidence.

“Esther, how could you?” Charity gasped, for it was clear to her that her friend had engineered the whole situation.

“Can you blame me, my dear friend, when I wish only to see you happy?” Esther replied, her whisper matching Charity’s own.

“I can blame you for arranging such an encounter without my permission,” Charity replied, in the same furious whisper. “He asked me to meet him once again in the grove, and as far as he will be concerned, I have done exactly as he wished."

“You did not wish to see him unchaperoned,” Esther whispered in Charity’s ear. “Well, I am with you now. It is all entirely proper.”

Charity hesitated.

She knew full well that if they were fine London ladies then to have a friend with her, and an unmarried one at that, in the presence of a gentleman, would not be considered a sufficient safeguard for her virtue.

But the fact of the matter was that they were not fine London ladies. They were fresh, innocent country girls, and few would frown on a pair of young women walking together in the presence of a gentleman.

Or rather, if they were to frown on anything at all, then it would surely be the figure of Mr. Harding, with all the rumors swirling around him, and the status of Charity’s chaperone would pale in comparison.

The fundamental question, Charity realized, is the question of whether I truly care a great deal about what other people think.

Even as she thought these words, she knew she was prepared to risk any amount of public censure in being seen with Mr. Harding — not that there was anyone to see them in the grove. For it was not other people’s opinion of her that she cared for but her own opinion of herself.

Taking a deep breath, she stepped forward. Her movement was soundless, so it was left to her to hail Mr. Harding by name.

He leapt at the sound of her voice, like a fine horse that was starting at a sudden sound.

“Miss Miller,” he said immediately, sweeping his hat off his head and bowing deeply to her.

Her own curtsey of reply was nowhere near as deep or as deferential. She stood there regarding him rather coolly.

“Please allow me to humbly apologize,” Mr. Harding began.

“There is no need, Mr. Harding,” Charity interrupted, “you have already made your feelings of remorse clear to me.”

“Then allow me to do so again,” Mr. Harding said, a steel entering his eyes that told Charity clearly that he intended to say his piece, no matter what. “My behavior at the ball was inexcusable, and you would have every right not to wish to see me, ever again.”

Charity fixed her eye on the ground. For a long while she did not speak, but eventually responded with a quiet, tight, “Yes, I would.”

“I have no wish to excuse my behavior, but perhaps I can account for it by explaining that since I have arrived back in England, my whole place in society has been lost. Before I went away, I was a lord, a future duke, the heir to Lawley Park. Most of all…” at this he sighed heavily, “…I was a beloved son.”

Charity knew that it would be more prudent to keep her eyes to the ground, but on hearing the pain in Mr. Harding’s voice, she could not help but look up and say to him softly, “I am so sorry that you are suffering.”

“No more of that,” Mr. Harding continued, his voice weighted with emotion.

“It is true that I have found myself cast out of normal society, and as such, I have been questioning some of its constraints. I have found myself lost and adrift, unsure of what does and does not matter anymore. And, if I may speak frankly for a moment, I must confess that when I am around you, I am not in my right mind.”

His words produced a strange storm of emotions in Charity’s mind. The strongest was pure, molten joy, which came at her all in a rush. The second, however, was something akin to irritation.

“I know that it seems absurd that I speak so,” he said. “I know that we have not known each other very long. Or rather, not for long in our current stage of life. Usually, I would consider myself to be a cautious man, Miss Miller. But something about your presence prevents me from exercising my usual caution.”

He looked at her, his eyes aflame. “I cannot account for it, nor can I dissuade myself from believing in the only thing in my present life that gives me joy.”

The intensity of that burning look convinced Charity that he meant what he said, but she felt as though she had to question it nonetheless. She had no intention of being naive, not when he had caused her distress so recently.

“So you think, Mr. Harding, that because you are not able to think rationally, then I must do so for the both of us? That I must be the guard not only of my behavior but also of yours?”

She did not say what she felt inside, which was that when she was around Mr. Harding, she, too, struggled to remember what was and was not acceptable. That, when she looked at him, she could think only of some sort of natural law which seemed to compel her tone with him and made social niceties seem petty and trivial.

She had reflected, when she lay in bed at night, that the rigid politeness of so many of her social interactions made her feel as though she knew some acquaintances of many years barely at all. With Mr. Harding, it was the opposite. She had spent so little time with him, but all their interactions had been one soul, one mind, communicating freely to another.

She did not say this because she did not feel entirely able to trust him again. Not quite yet.

“That is not what I meant,” Mr. Harding responded at once. “But if my manner of expression suggested that, then I apologize.” At this, he heaved a deep breath. “I am responsible for myself. This is a hard lesson, but it is one that I am being forced to learn at the moment.”

“What do you mean?” Charity felt her heart leap at his words, though at the moment she knew not whether it was a leap of hope or fear. Mr. Harding saw her expression and gave an ironical laugh.

“Oh, fear not. This is not the point at which I confess all and own to you that I am, in fact, a murderer. I am responsible for a great many things, but my conscience on that matter is entirely clear. No…” He sighed again, and seemed to tear his eyes away from Charity’s face in order to look away, out of the woods and into the town. “No, my responsibility lies in another place.”

“To your father,” Charity said, understanding what it was that he was implying.

“To my father,” Mr. Harding agreed, “and, indeed, to my community.” He gestured over toward the village. “My father raised me in the belief that I would be the lord of the manor for this place, and that as such I owed the community my kindness, good judgement, and protection.” Momentarily his shoulders slumped.

“I fear that I have failed them on that score,” he said. “So concerned was I with the damage to my own pride when my father rejected me that I fled. I ran away, rather than staying and doing whatever needed to be done to set matters to rights. Incidentally, that is what I am trying to do today.”

Charity felt her heart warmed by the man’s humility, by his evident conviction and sense of right and wrong.

“What is it that you want, sir?” Charity asked.

“I wish to call upon you,” Mr. Harding said simply. “I wish to gain your permission to be seen with you in society, to become your acquaintance and, in time, I hope, your friend. Until then I remain your humble servant.”

The words might have sounded a little excessive, but he spoke them with such sincerity that Charity could not help but be touched.

“Put simply, Miss Miller, I wish to get to know you. I have a strong and implacable feeling that compels me to acquaint myself with you better, and the grace and wisdom with which you have conducted yourself in the face of my poor behavior confirms this feeling. Do I have your permission?”

“Why should a man like you need the permission of a woman like me to do anything?” Charity asked in amazement.

“Firstly, because I trust in your judgement,” Mr. Harding said. “And secondly, because I am disgraced in these parts, and fear that by associating myself with you, the scandal that hangs over my head may affect you, too.”

As these words came out, he seemed to grow uneasy and turned away from Charity.

“Indeed, I fear it is too much,” he said, passing a hand over his brow in a jerking gesture of frustration. “I fear that I have only furthered my impertinence in asking this of you. I fear that I would do far better to clear my own name before I trouble you with questions of whether I might better make your acquaintance.”

Charity was touched by this statement. It suggested a sort of self-denial that she found moving, even noble.

But she shook her head.

“I will not let my behavior be governed by the response of ignorant people to unfounded rumors,” she said. “Since I believe that you were not involved in what happened, and are innocent of any crime, it does not matter to me what people might say about you, for they will be proven wrong, I have no doubt.”

A tinge of a smile entered Mr. Harding’s features.

“Am I being too bold,” he began, “or am I to interpret what you say as permission for me to further my acquaintance with you?”

Charity could not help smiling. He seemed to have reasoned her into saying the thing that she had wanted to say all along, yet had not felt quite able to.

“I suppose that I am conceding to you,” she replied, with a small smile.

“I am very glad to hear it,” Mr. Harding said. His own smile appeared to be uncontainable. “It only remains for me to beg your pardon, once again, and to assure you that my intentions are honorable.”

The implication of his words was quite clear to both of them, and Charity knew that once the conversation was complete, the hidden meaning would hit her fully, and she would be set afire with sheer happiness.

For now, her body seemed to buzz in response, as though there were a hive of honey bees within her breast.

“I thank you for your assurance,” she said. The feeling with which she spoke gave weight to the polite response, and it was clear from Mr. Harding’s face that he understood her meaning fully.

“Now if you will excuse me,” she continued, “I must speak to my friend, and inform her that she is not to resolve any other matters concerning me by way of arranging meetings in the woods and failing to inform me of them.”

She was turning away partly so Mr. Harding would not see the smile that seemed to have seized control of her features, and which she did not trust herself to control.

She could see, moreover, that Mr. Harding was smiling just as widely. Ever since they had first met, she had inexorably felt they were able to communicate with far more than just words. That sense was even stronger now, but she did her best to push it down.

She had only just forgiven him, after all. It would not do to get too carried away.