“I haven’t touched a cigarette since the war.”
She shouldn’t be surprised, given Ned’s age, but somehow she is. He appears the complete opposite of her brother. Shy, yes. Frightened, but not by his past, rather by what stands right in front of him. She can’t imagine him holding a gun, or crawling through mud. Perhaps he was an officer, commanding from well behind the lines? Resentment bubbles up, thinking of Michael in danger and Ned safe in some bunker or camp.
“I thought all soldiers smoked.” The words tumble out of her mouth before she can stop them, desperate to fill the silence.
Surprise shows in Ned’s expression, but to Wendy’s relief, he doesn’t seem to take offense at her words. It was unfair of her to judge him, even in her mind, without knowing anything about him.
“I take a pipe very occasionally, but never cigarettes. It reminds me of too much.”
Now it is Wendy’s turn for surprise. She looks to her brother again. Michael remains lost in his own thoughts, showing no interest in them. A cloud of smoke hangs around him, so she sees him through a haze, both older and younger than his actual age.
“Then why would…” she lets the words trail.
Ned’s reply is soft, compassion in his voice that startles her all over again.
“Perhaps that is precisely why your brother favors cigarettes. Many men don’t want to forget.”
Wendy turns to stare at him, this man who will be her husband. Her mouth opens slightly, but she’s at a loss for words. Under her attention, Ned’s cheeks color. He looks down, coughing slightly. Has she overstepped her bounds, or has he? Or are they both equally foolish and awkward? Silence stretches until it’s almost painful. Wendy reaches for something to say, anything to put them back on safe footing, but Ned saves her, falling back on bland formality.
“I must say, it is a pleasure to finally meet you, Miss Darling. Michael and John have told me a great deal about you.”
A faint stutter breaks into his words, and the blood rises to his cheeks again as he fights against it. That and the way he keeps a careful space between them makes Wendy swallow the response leaping to her tongue, too sharp for the situation: And they have told me nothing about you.
“John in particular has been a good friend to me ever since he came to work for my father.” Ned looks out over the garden as he speaks, not at her.
“If you don’t mind my asking.” Wendy tries to be careful with her words, not wanting to frighten Ned, not wanting to sound ignorant. Ned knows she’s been sick, but not where she’s been. Why does he think John and Michael have kept her a secret all these years? “How do you know my brothers? Were you with Michael in…”
She lets her words trail again, afraid of upsetting him. For all she knows, Ned bears scars every bit as deep as Michael’s and just as invisible to the naked eye. Ned’s mouth twitches beneath his moustache, but he schools his expression quickly.
Ned glances over his shoulder and Wendy follows his gaze to Michael.
“I was in the European theater at the same time as Michael, though we didn’t meet until after I’d returned home. John introduced us.”
“I’m glad Michael has someone to speak to, then. Someone who understands.” This much is true. She’s certain John and Michael don’t talk, not about the war at least, and she fears Michael may not have very many friends otherwise.
They lapse into silence again, but this time more comfortable. Wendy almost allows herself to relax, until she remembers John and Ned’s father are currently negotiating her future. Their future. After a moment, Ned gathers himself, his words emerging in a rush. His stutter returns, more pronounced now, and Wendy can’t help glancing back toward the dining room, half expecting to find Ned’s father looming in the doorway, a shadow against the curtains, a shadow over Ned’s whole life.
“I know this is all rather sudden, Miss Darling, and I wouldn’t blame you for any trepidations.” Ned hesitates, fidgeting with the cuffs of his jacket. “To be perfectly honest, I never expected to be married myself. I might have preferred… that is, I had assumed I would remain a bachelor.”
Ned looks down, and Wendy senses he’s trying to tell her something. There are words between his words, ones he’s afraid to speak, but for the life of her, she can’t guess at them. She bites back frustration. Why are people so fond of riddles, making others guess what they mean? Why is no one able to simply speak plainly?
Ned’s eyes, a warm, dark brown, meet her own. It is the first time he’s looked at her directly since their luncheon began. They are kind eyes; in that, at least, Ned is completely unlike his father.
“Miss Darling, I should like to be honest with you.” Ned lifts his chin. She sees the moment he wants to look away, but does not. Even so, the way he stands tells her he would much rather slouch, curl his shoulders inward as though to slip beneath notice, not just hers, but that of the world.
“It seems neither of us is to be given much choice in the matter of our nuptials. My father is rather eager for me to be married, quickly, and I fear that as your brother’s employer, and with your own health difficulties, he settled on you as a suitable match, feeling that you would be… pliable, lacking in other prospects.”
Ned coughs, a short, embarrassed sound, the color in his cheeks even higher. Wendy can only stare at him, at a loss for what to say in the face of his candor.
“Given that
