Willa pressed her lips against a laugh that would earn her a few scalding glares if she let it loose and took her daughter back. They were finally only a few steps from the narthex, where conversation wasn’t quite so restricted. “I thought I’d have to wait decades to see you like this. Rather delicious irony that of all the girls to fall in love at a young age, it happens to you.”

“It has not!” And wouldn’t. Just because she liked him, just because his words, written in code, kept playing through her mind, didn’t mean she was in love.

“There you are.” Lukas edged his way to them once they left the sanctuary, through the crowd of parishioners who seemed none too eager to go out into the cool December air again. “What have you made my sister scowl about this time, mon amour?”

“The fact that she’s sweet on Drake Elton and doesn’t want to admit it.” Grinning like the mischief-maker she was, Willa turned toward the aisle. “We’d better get home, luv. My family’s probably already there.”

Lukas, of course, was too busy staring at Margot with questions in his brows to follow his wife. “Is she right? You actually like this fellow? I thought him on a fool’s errand when he said he meant to win your heart.”

“My heart isn’t in need of winning, thank you.” And she’d prove it if she must. A quick plotting of the most efficient course through the milling masses—bypassing Mrs. Neville, of course—and she was sidestepping her way over to where he stood just outside the doors. She’d simply tell him she wasn’t interested in being courted. Perhaps if he heard the words outright, that would be that.

Though she’d said as much the first time he’d flirted with her, hadn’t she? And yet here they were, apparently involved in something romantic without her ever once having agreed to it. All she’d done was read the letters. Did that equal agreement? Complicity?

A rotund gentleman shifted into her way, requiring an immediate course correction to avoid plowing into his well-padded back.

Drake would probably be embarrassed if she just went up to him now and said, “We’re not courting.” Which might help her cause, ultimately.

Though he’d no doubt stop sending the letters then too. Which shouldn’t make her pace slacken . . . but it did.

And she didn’t want to hurt him. Or, to be honest, embarrass him. He’d been nothing but kind to her. And he was a good man. The best sort of man, always watching for a way to help others. He certainly didn’t deserve a public dressing-down for the crime of liking her, did he?