“No, please, let me speak.” He clasped her hands in his, smiling at her so tenderly she caught her breath. “It must be obvious to you how I feel about you, but I know how much you like plain dealing. I love you. There you have it.”

Her fingers tightened involuntarily in his. There was no doubting his sincerity, nor any point in denying her own feelings, but it would be wrong. She had no idea how she knew this, but she did. She dare not speak, lest the words he was so patently desperate to hear escape her mouth.

“You look surprised,” Donald prompted when she remained silent. “Surely you must have been aware of the growing affection in my letters? Ever since that fateful night, when I found you conversing with Mr. Scott, I have been drawn to you. Love has crept up on me slowly, as we became firm friends through our correspondence. I have never sought love, or a wife, but now that I’ve found you, I know you are my journey’s end. Will you marry me, Margaret, and be my companion in life?”

She had never in her life longed to say yes more. Yes, she loved him. Yes, she would marry him. Yes, she would share his life. But the words stuck in her throat. She couldn’t breathe. “I’m so sorry.” As his tender smile faltered, she almost changed her mind, but she had learned many lessons in the last two years. She could not risk having her entire future decided by one passionate kiss. Carefully, Margaret disengaged her hands.

“I don’t understand,” Donald said. “Have I misjudged your feelings?”

“No. Yes. It’s not that I don’t—though I hadn’t realised until now.”

“You need time. I thought I had prepared the ground, but I see now I have been too opaque. This is a momentous decision, I will not rush you.”

It was so tempting to agree, to delay the inevitable, but she had learned the hard way to trust her instincts. She had only just obtained her independence. She could not immediately surrender it. She wanted to do what Lewis had urged her to do: to become herself, whatever that might entail. She wanted to make her own mistakes, to live without having to accommodate someone else’s wishes. Given that, she couldn’t in all conscience agree to marry Donald. It would be dishonest and cruel, and she loved him too much to do that. Though she would have to cause him pain.

“I’m sorry, Donald.” Was she really doing this? She gazed at him, the man she had only just fallen in love with, knowing that she might be throwing away her one and only chance for happiness. “I’m sorry,” she said again, and there was a steely resolution in her tone that made his smile fade. “I don’t need time to consider. I simply can’t marry you.”