Page 107 of Charlotte

Of course, he didn’t sit. A man preparing to wound himself in the name of honor would not make himself comfortable first.

His hat was in his left hand. His right hand was wrapped and visible at his side. That detail hurt more than if he had hidden it. He had kept some part of what she gave him, even while preparing to take himself away.

“Lottie,” he said.

“Cecil.”

Val looked down.

Preacher Sutton cleared his throat gently. “Miss Bellamy, Mr. Peterson came this morning to discuss the match arranged through the Sisters’ company.”

“I assumed he had not come to discuss hymn selection.”

Cecil’s eyes closed briefly.

Lottie was glad. Let him feel at least one small sting of it.

Preacher Sutton did not rebuke her. “He asked what would be required to release you from the agreement.”

The words landed cleanly. There was no gossip, or Mrs. Beck weeping into a handkerchief.

Just the truth, spoken in a parsonage on a bright July morning while the man who had kissed her stood ten feet away and looked as though he might endure anything except her silence.

Oh, just wait until Delly finds out. Heaven help them all.

Lottie turned to Cecil. “You went to the preacher before you came to me.”

“I meant to do it properly.”

“No. You meant to do it safely.”

His jaw tightened. “That is not fair.”

“It is precise.”

Val’s mouth moved once. It might have been approval. It might have been prayer.

Cecil looked toward the window. Outside, somewhere near the schoolhouse, another hammer struck wood.

“You deserve a choice unburdened by obligation,” he said.

“I had one.”

“No. You had a match arranged before you knew me.”

“Now I know you.” His fingers tightened around the brim of his hat. Lottie stepped closer to him. “Just spit it out.”

His gaze came back to her. The ache in his eyes nearly made her soften.

Nearly.

If he meant to break her heart, he could look at her while he did it.

“I wish to release you from the match,” he said.

Her throat burned.

“Why?”