He took her hand in both of his. “The isolation. Then you came along, and showed me that I did not have to be alone. Soames’s evil genius was that he managed to make a half dozen people feel alone while we literally took every meal together and dwelled under the same roof. You knew how to fight that darkness, and taught us how to fight it too. You saved my life, Constance. I want you to know that.”

He was being kind, reminding her that she was more than the failed mother of an adolescent bound for the ends of the earth.

“Thank you,” she said, because thanks were in order.

“But you are still heartbroken, I know. Let’s go to bed, shall we? You slept as poorly in your brother’s coach as I did.”

She could say no without offending him, could claim a need to think, or to draft her first letter to her daughter. Rothhaven would considerately leave her in peace and finish his much-needed nap in the big bed in the other room.

But Stephen’s words repeated in her head: You keep yourself to yourself.…And where had that landed her? Painting in her bare feet and hiding from the world. Simply touching Rothhaven, talking to him, hearing his voice, brought her comfort.

“I don’t want to be alone right now,” she said, turning her face into his shoulder. “I am more upset than I have ever been. I don’t want to lose her just as I’ve found her, Rothhaven. I cannot.”

He rose and drew Constance to her feet. “Dwell on the positive aspects of the situation for now. She won’t leave for weeks, she is a wonderful girl, she wants to know you better, and we have many resources. You are tired and have had an overwhelming morning. Come to bed.”

Constance went into the bedroom hand in hand with Rothhaven, and he undressed her as she let fatigue and sheer shock steal over her. She had met her daughter. Her lovely, delightful, stubborn, outspoken daughter. She could lose that daughter without ever seeing her again, and that was unbearable.

When Rothhaven had Constance down to her shift, he gave her a gentle push toward the steps beside the bed.

“You will join me?” Closeness with him, the man who knew her secrets, who shared her burdens, had become imperative.

“Not until I’m wearing less than you are, but yes.”

Rothhaven peeled his shirt over his head, stepped out of his breeches, and neatly folded his clothing on the clothes press. Constance had seen him all but unclothed before, but this mundane display was more dear. She would see him like this often, moving around a bedroom in the altogether, preparing for sleep. His hair was tousled, his eyes ringed with fatigue, and yet, he was a splendid specimen—lean, muscular, well proportioned, and hers to love.