“Leave it to me,” he said, and brought my hands to his lips. “If you will so honor me, that is.”

I said nothing. I was as dizzy and confused as I was after having drunk his potent lemon drink. Had it put me in a spell that still lasted, or was I really on the brink of a great love and family life?

I led him out to the dining room. We seated him so he would be across from me, and then my mother and I served. For most of the dinner, Garland did what he had done to me, enchanting my mother with tales of his travels, describing the beauty, the people, and the foods he had eaten. My father hadn’t been much of a traveler. Neither of my parents had, so she was intrigued and entertained, interrupting occasionally to tell my father she would like to go to this place or that.

“You hate an hour’s ride in the carriage and especially a ride on a train, Rosemary,” he reminded her with an amused smile.

“What you do,” Garland answered for her, “is keep your mind on your destination. When you get there, you realize it was worth the effort.”

My mother nodded as if she was so convinced she’d leave tomorrow.

Interspersing his descriptions with comments on the food, Garland carefully wove a cocoon of comfort and ease around my mother. Before the dinner had ended, he had her laughing more than I had ever seen her laugh with a relative stranger. I was truly impressed myself, and when I looked at my father, I saw how rapt he was as well.

Maybe fate had given me a wonderful prize. Maybe I shouldn’t hate limoncello after all, I thought, and smiled to myself. Garland caught it and winked at me. When it was time for our coffee and cake, we retired to the study. After my mother and I served, Garland put down his cup, cleared his throat, and stood up with his hands clasped behind his back. I thought he looked quite silly, but he was determined to do this in the most formal and correct manner he could.

“I would like to make a confession,” he began, which actually started my heart pounding. What confession? Was he mad? “Ordinarily, I am a particularly careful and studious man. If there was one thing my father left me, it was caution. ‘Only rash men,’ he told me, ‘make unforgivable and uncorrectable errors.’ This is obviously something your husband not only knows well, Mrs. Dixon, but has as the guiding principle of his own life and career; otherwise, he would not have been given such an important position in such a prestigious company and be considered for one even higher.”