“It’s not the park itself—not the architecture of the house, nor the design of the gardens. It’s the property. The land.”

“The farm, do you mean? The crops, and the livestock?”

“Not only that. It’s the history of the place. The way it links people together. Anchors them to something tangible and real.”

She paused, seeming to consider. “I expect some people do feel anchored to the land. Especially if it’s been passed down from one generation to the next—and if it forms the bulk of their livelihood.”

“It’s not the wealth it generates. Not entirely. It’s something more than that.” He tried to explain, however poorly. “Land is the only thing that gives a man a sense of connection. Of meaning. Unless he has it, he never truly belongs anywhere.”

“Is that what you’re searching for? A sense of belonging?”

A lump formed in his throat. She made it sound so simple. As if he might have found it anywhere. “I suppose I am.”

Something in her expression softened. “You don’t want land, Alex. What you’re looking for is a family.”

Her words pierced him to his soul. He recoiled when she uttered them, his gaze jerking away from hers. He felt, for one stark instant, as if she’d knocked the breath out of him. As if she’d opened all of the shades in a darkened room, exposing him to the brutal light of day.

“Don’t you have a family?” she asked. “I know your parents died of the cholera—”

“They didn’t die,” he said.

Only three short words, but he felt the power of them as surely as he’d felt the power of hers. It was a mistake. He knew it as soon as he confessed it. An error in judgment that could put all of his plans at risk.

She fell quiet for the space of a heartbeat. “Didn’t they?”

He turned back to her, expecting he knew not what. But there was no censure in Laura’s eyes. No anger that he’d lied to her, and to her family. There was only compassion. Concern. A desire to help. To understand.

And he knew then that she cared for him. Not the fiction he’d created, but him. The man.

The realization struck his resolve a mortal blow.

Just like that, the carefully constructed façade he’d hidden behind since arriving in Lower Hawley cracked and splintered, shattering at his feet like so much broken glass. In that brief moment, there was nothing between them. No more lies. No more artifice. There was only him. Alex Archer. Vulnerable, exposed.