To say I'd ever loved someone till now was a lie. I hadn't considered that. I love you. Those words had come with ease and at times with a blush but I'd always thought them genuine.

All lies. Because I felt nothing in comparison to sitting in that little carriage being accosted by someone nearly half my body weight.

The governess wasn't really tiny, not really, but her slender frame wasn't why I regarded her as something fragile.

At times, when she'd come at me, I felt minuscule. An insignificant ant overrun by a mad lion. But then she'd run out of steam and shrink down and the sun would shift ever so slightly and reveal that she wasn't all that big. She was no lion, just a kitty cat pawing at an illusion.

But when she finished telling me about the rabbit, I felt afraid. Never had I been confronted with something—someone like this. I had no idea how to approach her. How to defend myself.

I wanted a no.

Deep down. With every part of me, I wanted a no. I wanted her to tell me she hated me. That I smelled. That I was ignorant. That I was hideous in her eyes. Something.

Or even just one word...no.

I would have left her alone, I knew. I was sure of it. But that word never came from her and now I understood why.

Because it wasn't true. She did want me—she all but admitted it. She called me a rabbit. Something she enjoyed for the time I existed but knew ultimately would not last.

And who was I to stand in her way? So once we returned home, I allowed her to dash from the carriage.

No. I did not believe she was shedding tears in private, but rather, running from the ghost of her past. Not me. I just happened to share the same space at that moment.

Going back to apologize to Angelique was what a true gentleman would do.

I refused.

Both Father and Mother went on my behalf, Father riding my horse home.

Me? I went in search of my ill-begot love interest.

What was there to like about her? Everything—nothing. It was the strangest paradox. How could a woman who could chase Lana around in a 'lady-like fashion' sit down, look me in the eye, and tell me she'd all but consume me metaphorically without a hint of regret?

I found the governess in the study, writing furiously. Her back was to me but she must have seen my reflection in the window perhaps. Somehow, she always knew when I was in the vicinity.

To let my presence be known, I rapped on the door frame. Her pace never slowed so I'd been right.

If there was one thing I could admit to loving about the woman, it was the way she quivered with every touch. It wasn't perverse or tinged with fright, but...longing.

She hated that birthmark, and yet, I couldn't stop looking at it. A woman's face was best pristine. Everyone thought this. I'd thought this myself before meeting her. But it was the only flaw I could find. This outward blemish while others I'd met wore their faults in secret.

So when I pulled up a chair and sat beside her, she said nothing to my hand resting on her shoulder. In an effort to see if she was still angry, I ran my fingertips down her back.

Nothing. Not so much as a curse.

I wanted some response, however, so I'd resolved to stand and leave her but her left hand came to rest on my knee.

What was she signaling and what did she expect from me?

Being in her proximity was enough so I allowed her to hold my knee as I prepped my left elbow on the desk and rested my head on my palm. Perhaps all she wanted was company and nothing more.

This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

After some time, she scooted closer to me and I sat with her between my legs.

I wasn't sure when I'd nodded off but I awoke to find a blanket wrapped safely around me. Whatever she was working on was gone.

If not for the tepid coffee resting on the desk, I would have considered myself abandoned. With a sigh, I lit a lamp, stood from the chair and crossed the room to the bookshelf, plucked her favorite novel and opened it. Sure enough, the freshly written papers, folded with care, rested in the pages.

Upon sitting at the desk, I sipped my cold coffee as I read.

For a moment, I mistook this for a job request but further reading told me it was something else. She was introducing herself to a family—a potential family she was interested in marrying into.

My heart ached, and not just for the situation in which I found myself, but for her. She'd even made a list of her skill set. As impressive as they were, she resembled a piece of meat, or livestock, and not a living breathing woman.

This was where her value lay, at least to her, and there was no way to counter what she'd learned.

Reading her letter inspired me as well and I retrieved my own hidden notebook, ironically opposite to hers as I liked hiding in plain view, and began to write.

Twenty pages later, I sat back, rather pleased with myself.

Her letter drew my focus again and I picked the pages up. As tempted as I was to burn them in the lamp's fire, I lowered my hand, finally.

I loved her.

And I knew I loved her at this very moment because I wanted her to succeed. It would bring her no joy, I knew, but she wasn't seeking joy, but something else I could not provide her, and something else I wasn't fully sure she could identify.

So after I put her letters back in their hiding place, I went about seeking my cold supper.

The next morning, before breakfast, I confronted my mother.

Claudia Chamberlain did not tremble easily, yet here she was, one step away from begging for mercy.

That was my fault. My temper wasn't my best attribute. But I felt no anger to her, only confusion. After she finally confessed to what the governess had told her, I sighed.

"What does she mean the status is not enough? What's higher than a duke beyond a prince?"

Mother's worry was genuine when she shook her head. "I do not know. She's already said she had no interest in the monarchy because she'd be confronted with her stepsister daily. Or in her words...a slow death."

I wanted to scream, demanding, Then why come all this way if she was only going to go backwards?

But that hardly mattered. This meant I really had nothing to offer her. Besides, with what I knew of her family, there would be no status left.

My mother's eyes met mine and I did not need to ask her, she said, "I'd give you my blessing. Your father would be angry at first, but if he'd disown you, he wouldn't leave you penniless. Especially when he sees how much this means to you."

I waited. "But?"

But he wasn't the problem. The governess was.

My mother explained, "This is a woman of great assets. The idea that her presence would ruin a family goes against all she'd ever planned for. If you look at her list, you'll see that she only chose houses hit by scandal. All have businesses, and all have potential to form into something great."

She wanted to rescue them, or at the very least, to make her marriage have a positive effect.

"That shouldn't matter," I protested.

Mother held my shoulder and said, "You cannot change her mind. I've tried. I'd thought she was a charlatan or a very skilled temptress but...that is simply not the case. She doesn't want this household."

Her words hurt me. "A charlatan? You did not say that, did you?"

"No. Of course not," she entreated me. "But you are not known for your composure and within months she had you following her around like a puppy. Of course a mother will expect the worse. All the more reason why I do not think we can change her mind."

That wasn't what I wanted to hear. My mother always, always had a plan. Even this terrible business with Angelique, I knew, was also her plan.

But she'd met her match, and with that, I knew I'd met mine.

Therefore, when I saw the governess readying herself in her best clothes after breakfast, I hurried to the study and to her hiding place. The letters were gone.

I cursed under my breath as I thundered down the stairs and into my room for my hat and tie.

The door of the carriage nearly closed but I darted in, as large as I was.

We bobbed momentarily. Her hand was at her mouth but she lowered it upon realizing that it was no hurricane that had nearly tipped her over, but rather, a disheveled fool.

Huffing and puffing, I forced the best smile I could. "I'll accompany you."

A slow blush crept up her face until she was crimson. "I do not know what you mean," she began, fixing her hat.

I caught her hand and told her, "You don't want me, but I want you to be happy. And I can let go if I see that you've found a good husband who will care for you. So allow me to go, and I won't interfere, I promise." She still set her mouth to refuse but I insisted, "I'll accompany you and vouch for your skill and job performance. Wouldn't that look more authentic rather than a woman with no escort?"

Her lips pressed together and she sat back. Slowly, the cogs in her brain started turning.

The moment she began fixing my hair and then tying my necktie, I affirmed my victory.

It was all right if I couldn't have her. I'd make her happy in the only way she understood contentment—in the assurance that what she had to offer others was something worthwhile.