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This is the last regularly scheduled one. But anyone should feel free to post one on Mondays if you want to share .

Heroine was seated where she had sat yesterday. She was in the process of setting aside her embroidery. She was all cool poise as she got to her feet and indicated the chair where he had sat.


“Good afternoon, Hero,� she said.

It was impossible to read anything in her face.

“Heroine ,� he said, inclining his head.

She sat back down, and he took his seat. She picked up her embroidery again and bent her head to her work.


Good Lord, this was awkward.

“The sun is shining again,� he said. “It is actually quite warm outside. Perhaps you would like—�


She did not let him finish.

“I have thought since yesterday,� she said. “I have thought and thought. But thoughts can move in endless circles and settle nothing. Eventually a decision must be made.�


“I am deeply sorry,� he said, “if—�

“I believe I gave you the wrong impression two evenings ago,� she said. “Indeed, I know I did, because I did it deliberately. I let you believe that I am happy in my widowhood, that my life is busy and fulfilled. That is not actually the case.�


Ah. Perhaps he ought to have guessed it. But he knew so little about her. Indeed, he knew very little about women.


“I am not unhappy,� she said. “And my life is not empty of meaning or activities or friends. I do not need a man in my life. I can live alone with some contentment, for the rest of my days if necessary. But I would like to have a man, preferably as a husband but not necessarily so.�


He gazed at her bowed head in some shock. Had she just said what he thought she had said?


“Heroine ,� he said, “I hope I have not given the impression that my intentions are anything less than honorable?�


She looked up at him, her eyes huge and calm.

“No, of course you have not,� she said. “You need to marry. I do not.�


Her eyes went back to her work, and her hand pushed the needle through the cloth again and drew it back out. They were graceful, elegant hands.


“The trouble with marriage,� she said, “from my point of view anyway, is that it is so very permanent. I cannot try it and then decide that after all it is not what I want. I know that from experience.�


“If you marry me,� he said, “I will spend the rest of my life seeing to it that you do not regret your decision. That is no idle promise.�


“No, I know it is not.� She set her work down in her lap again, the needle still in her hand, and looked at him once more. “But you would be powerless to prevent my regretting the decision if I discovered after a few months that I cannot conceive a child. You could not fail to regret it if that happened, though you would, of course, behave for the rest of our lives with scrupulous honor and courtesy. It would not be a happy marriage, Major Gilchrist, for either of us, and the only type of marriage that could lure me away from my freedom is one that gives some promise of being at least mildly happy.�

“In all probability,� he said, “you can have children, Mrs. Pritchard. In all probability, so can I. But there are no guarantees. There never are. There never can be.�

“Yes,� she said quietly, looking down to thread her needle through the cloth before setting her hands, one on top of the other, over it, “there can be.�

He frowned in incomprehension.

She looked up at him again.

“I realized in the end last night,� she said, “that despite all the arguments against accepting your offer, I would nevertheless say yes except for one thing. Only one of those arguments was a stumbling block I could not see my way past. I may be barren. You cannot know how long five years can seem to a woman who waits in hope at each month’s end before pinning her hope on the next month. I always longed for a child. It would have validated my hasty decision to marry Aubrey. It would have enriched my life.�


He opened his mouth to speak, but she held up a staying hand and he closed it again.

“If it could be proved that I am not barren,� she said, “then I would marry you, Major Gilchrist. Gladly. There are two months or so of the Season remaining. If that proof could be made during that time, then I would marry you. Indeed, I would have no choice but to marry you. But if there were no proof, then my answer would be no. For both our sakes.�


He was on his feet, Jack realized. His hands were clenched into fists at his sides.

“What are you suggesting?� he asked, though he would have to be an imbecile not to understand.


“It is really quite the accepted thing, you know,� she said, “for a widow to take a lover, provided the affair is conducted discreetly and does not cause any open scandal. I believe I would like to have a lover for a couple of months. It is four years since Aubrey died. �


“Mrs. Pritchard,� he said, using a voice he had not used since selling his commission, “enough of this. You are suggesting that I debauch you? It is something I would not do in a million years.�


“Well, then,� she said, “my answer must be no.�

He might have turned and stridden from the room and the house had not her eyes filled with sudden tears a moment before she hid them by lowering the lids over them.


Fatally, he hesitated.

Tears?

Why?

“I thank you for your kind offer,� she said. But her voice was no longer the calm, flat sound it had been until now. It shook. She stopped and swallowed. When she spoke again, she sounded breathless. “But I must decline it, Major Gilchrist. I do wish you well in your search for a bride. I am quite sure you will have no trouble at all. I wish you happy.�


He frowned down at the top of her head, hesitated again, and then closed the distance between them. She did not look up. He went down on one knee before her and possessed himself of one of her hands. It was, as he expected, as cold as marble. He dipped his head and saw that her eyes were still swimming with tears.


“You were serious?� he said.


“Yes,� she agreed. “And it had nothing to do with debauchery or immorality. It is not immoral for a widow to take a lover. Whom would I be likely to harm? It is not as if you are a married man. And it would be over before you married someone else.�


“Or,� he said, “it would result in our marriage if I were to impregnate you.�

“Yes,� she said.

“I would feel as if I were insulting you,� he said, “and treating you like a broodmare.�

“Nonsense.� She sniffed. “The suggestion was mine, not yours.�

He handed her his handkerchief and waited while she dried her eyes and blew her nose. She crumpled the handkerchief, hesitated, and then shoved it behind her on the chair.


“Will you not reconsider?� he asked her. “Will you not marry me without conditions? I really do wish to marry you, you know. There is no one else, and I would really rather there not be.�


“You are kind,� she said.

“I am not offering out of kindness,� he told her as he got to his feet.


“No, I know.� She seemed more in command of herself again. “And it is for that reason I would need to be sure.�


She was looking steadily at him now. “I would like to be married to you, Major Gilchrist,� she said. “But only if I were sure that I could offer you sons or at least the chance of sons.�


He wished he had never mentioned to her his reason for marrying.

Heartbreaking! How he loves her but never got a chance to say so.

I don't know it but I would like to!

hmm, not sure on this one. hmm.

It’s from Only Love, a Mary Balogh short story in It Happened One Season.

Oh, this has my interest!

Love all her books