WINTER

I knew as I made my way through the main street of the town, that I had strayed far from my course. What little people who were on the street in this dreary weather stopped to stared after me, intrigued at my unexpected appearance, as is often the way among small communities. I came at last to a busy coffee house, a few of her eager patrons sitting outside under dripping awnings. Determined to ask for directions and fed up with the consistently inclement weather, I dismounted and entered, a little bell tinkling as I pushed open the front door. Inside was small and cosy, with a low roof and a huge fire roaring on the opposite side of the room. I sat down at a free table, glad to be out of the elements and watched the strange people around me; many were dressed extravagantly for such a small village. Even those dressed in simple attire wore elaborately worked skirts, bodices and aprons that seemed impractical for everyday work. There was a general hubbub as the crowd chatted idly among themselves. Occasionally a group would look up at me as they conversed making no attempt to hide their curiosity. Their language sounded familiar yet was utterly foreign to me, like an uncommon dialect from a little know province. I began to grow uncomfortable at their unguarded glances when a pretty young lady approached me, serving tray perched on her ample hip. Silently she place teapot and cup and saucer in front of me but before she could move on I asked, in my broken German, what town this was. The woman looked at me and answered in German:

 ‘This is Nenjira, my lord, in the Bordonian Valley.’ I was at a loss, I had never heard of this town or valley before, nor had it been on any map I had studied of the area in which I was heading. The woman seemed to notice my distress for she looked over her shoulder and politely called out to another; a woman in a fine bustle and hat, auburn curls draped over one shoulder. This elegant woman stood and approached my table with a gentle smile on her lips. She began to speak to me in very rapid German, a question, I guessed, from her intonation. I shook my head and muttered that I spoke little German.

 ‘You are English.’ She commented, switching easily to perfectly accented English.

 ‘Yes, I am travelling to Warsaw from Berlin and seem to have lost my way.’ The woman smiled and sat in the vacant seat opposite me. She ordered coffee from the serving girl, who moved her way back through the crowd.

 ‘If you are travelling east, you are not far from your trail. Nenjira is a little town and rarely on any maps, but it is on your way.’ The serving girl returned with coffee and a little plate of pastries. ‘It is getting late in the year and the mountains to the east are often treacherous in the dark. You are welcome to stay night; I can have a stable hand tend to your horse and belongings.’ The woman before me, this beautiful woman with sparkling grey eyes, raised a delicate hand and summoned a young boy. She spoke to him in the strange dialect I had heard earlier before he dashed out the front door, no doubt to tend to my horse. The woman looked back at me and introduced herself.

 ‘I am Lady Anne Baker-Smith, the proprietess.’

 ‘Captain Arthur Bellingham.’ I replied, standing a little from my chair to bow a greeting. We sat for a few moments in silence as Lady Anne sipped her coffee and I my tea.

 ‘You choose a strange time of year to travel across Europe, Captain. We are expecting the winter snows early this year.’

 ‘Normally I would have waited out the New Year, but I was eager to return to my regiment.’ Lady Anne’s lips pursed together delicately as I spoke, only to settle back into her easy smile.

 ‘Well, if you have finished your tea, I will escort you to your accommodations.’ I stood, making to pay when Lady Anne stayed my hand. ‘On the house, my friend.’ Her tone suggested she would brook no argument, so I stowed my wallet with a gracious bow of my head and followed her out. Lady Anne waved at many of her patrons as she made her way out, pausing once at a table to kiss the cheeks of its occupants before finally leading me out into the grey but now dry evening. Lady Anne lead me to an elegant house a little down the street and I realised it was her private residence.

 ‘Madam, I do not wish to impose on your household.’ I objected. ‘I can easily stay at an inn.’

 ‘Nonsense, it would be an honour. We do not often receive guest.’ So innocuous a comment it was some time before I realised she was not only referring to her household. The interior of Lady Anne’s home was elegant and spacious with many large windows, heavily curtained against the cold night. Removing her hat and coat, Lady Anne introduced me to her butler, Mr Hardcastle, a short dour man with an air of importance about his person, and informed me that dinner would be at eight. Silently, Mr Hardcastle led me upstairs to a spare bedroom just off the landing. What little possession I carried with me had been transported to the room and a fire lit. Mr Hardcastle advised that a valet would be up shortly to assist with my toilette before he pulled the door closed after him and left me alone. I removed my boots and coat and laid them before the fire to dry out marvelling at the situation I had suddenly found myself in. Lady Anne’s gently commanding manner had seen me following her into her home without question. I laughed quietly and shook my head as I stretched my feet before the fire. Before long the proffered valet knocked on my door. William, for that was his name, helped me into my dress uniform and quickly brushed up my boots. I was mightily self-conscious of my appearance as I entered the dining room, but my hostess was gracious and waved off my concerns as she stood to greet me at the door, gently placing her hand on my arm to guide me in. She had changed into a figure-hugging dinner gown of pale green that beautifully complemented the colour of her hair. So bewitched by her appearance it was a moment before I realised there were two others who joined us at the table: a blonde maiden, all smiles and curls and a dark bearded gentleman in a spectacularly colour waistcoat. Lady Anne introduced the girl as her daughter, Miss Arabella and the gentleman, her neighbour, Lord Psoriasis Jones. I was glad for the company for I had been travelling for weeks in relative solitude.

 ‘My gamekeeper tells me there is snow on the northern mountains this afternoon.’ My hostess commented and Mr Hardcastle and a footman laid out the first course. ‘I would suggest leaving before dawn tomorrow if you wish to make the eastern pass before more snow falls.’

 ‘Otherwise you’ll be cut off until spring.’ Miss Arabella chimed in, helping herself to the fish.

 ‘I don’t know, could be a bit of a diversion for the young ladies to have a strapping young captain visit for the winter,’ Lord Jones remarked, waggling his eyebrows in a highly suggestive fashion that set the younger lady into a fit of giggles.

 ‘My dear friend, our guest has a regiment to re-join; we should not delay him for the sake of a few silly young ladies.’ Lady Anne’s tone was cheerful but her eyes were tired and her smile had become forced. Lord Jones noticed his friend’s manner and he bowed his head slightly in submission.

 ‘Very well, if you think it best to send the poor man on his way without seeing the delights of Bordonia, far be it from me to question you.’ Anne patted her friend’s hand appreciatively if somewhat patronisingly. The rest of the dinner passed as any other and we eventually retired to the drawing room for port. Miss Arabella retired early and the three of us sat peacefully chatting over trivial nonsense. At last, close to midnight, Lord Jones made his excuses and ordered his hat, coat and cane. As he was pulling them on, Lady Anne spoke to her butler.

 ‘Hardastle, can you ensure Captain Bellingham’s horse is ready for his departure before dawn.’ The butler nodded and left the drawing room.

 ‘Well, I wish you well on your journey, Captain.’ Lord Jones declared, shaking my hand firmly. ‘If you find yourself passing this way in the New Year, do pop in. Perhaps then we can show you our “earthly delights”.’ Again he waggled his eyebrows at me.

 ‘It would be a pleasure, my Lord.’ I replied, trying to ignore his eyebrows. The gentleman flapped his hand at me and insisted I dispense with formality and call him Psoriasis. Then with a final bow to me and a warm kiss on Lady Anne’s hand, Psoriasis swept from the room. A few moments later and my hostess declared it time to retire and we made our way to our respective bedrooms. As I settled into bed and felt sleep come upon me, I was at peace for the first time is many years. It was a strange feeling and I briefly wondered, before I closed my eyes, how long it would last. Had I stayed conscious much longer I would have seen the first few flakes of snow settle on the window sill.

   I woke with a start from a dreamless slept, just after dawn to discover a thick layer of snow had fallen the previous night. At Lady Anne’s request, I accompanied the gamekeeper as far north-east as we dared; hoping the mountain pass was still open. But the further we travelled the thicker the fallen snow became; then it began to snow in earnest and we had no option but to retreat back to the estate. Anne was mortified at our return, cursing the weather and her luck as though this situation was entirely her own doing. I brushed the whole affair off casually but there was a small part of me that was excessively glad my return to the regiment was delayed.

   The snow fell steadily for an entire week and the household was almost entirely housebound. Travelling was treacherous as the snow hardened over night into ice only to be covered by another layer of snow. Psoriasis visited often and for most of the day. I wondered at the relationship between Lady Anne and him but the gentleman was never more personal than to kiss his friend’s hand or pass a flirtatious comment. However, as Psoriasis flirted with anyone including the butler and on one concerning occasion with me, I held no stock in it. Arabella was doted on as much as Psoriasis flirted. She was a charming young lady who I became excessively fond of over the long hours of the day. Lady Anne and Psoriasis braved the weather to daily attend to the coffee house, called, I discovered later, the Dancing Bear, and while I would join them on occasion the quiet of the library often stole my attention. Arabella had her lessons in the morning but after lunch she would join me in the library. Sometimes I would read to her or tell her fantastical stories, other times she played her harp or piano for me, singing sweetly along. Still other times we would simply sit in silence together, engaged in our own pursuits. One afternoon I was regaling Arabella with tales of the many tribes of Africa when Lady Anne made her presence known with a delicate knock on the door. She smiled.

 ‘There is to be a ball this Saturday.’ She declared holding up a filigreed invitation, Miss Arabella’s eyes lit up.

 ‘A ball, how perfectly wonderful!’

 ‘I am glad you feel so, my pet,’ came a voice from the hall. Psoriasis then strode into the room carrying a large white box. ‘Because I have a gift for you to wear to that very ball.’ He placed the box before Arabella and with a flourish removed the lid. Arabella squealed with delight as she pulled a red velvet gown from the box and held it against her pinafore.

 ‘Oh Uncle, it is simply too much! A beautiful new gown and my first ball.’

 ‘Take it upstairs to Clare before it is soiled, my darling.’ Lady Anne gently ordered. Arabella reverently replace the gown back in its box and carefully carried it out of the library as though she held a holy relic.

 ‘Indeed my friend, you do spoil that girl.’ Lady Anne chided her friend as she sank into a nearby chair.

 ‘That is my prerogative, dear Anne. I am her godfather. Anyway I must be off my dears; I need to change for dinner.’ And without another word, he was gone and Anne and I were left alone in the library. Curiosity got the better of propriety or the sensibilities of the gentler sex and I asked:

 ‘Where is Arabella’s father, my lady?’ I regretted the words immediately the moment they left my lips. I looked, carefully, to Anne. She had her eyes closed and for a moment I hoped she had not heard me. But eventually she spoke with a sigh.

 ‘My husband left us, before Arabella was born. He and many other young men joined the army to fight in a foreign war.’

 ‘And he never returned?’ I asked the question but the answer was clear enough. I could see it in Anne’s eyes – sad and tired they had become. It explained Anne’s reticence when I spoke of my regiment.

 ‘None of them returned, nor did any news of the battle. Three thousand husbands, sons and fathers lost in foreign lands to a pointless war.’

   The day of the ball approached faster than the days that had preceded it. I feared I had overstepped my bounds after I had asked about her husband for Anne avoided my company for the rest of the day. But at breakfast on the next she appeared as though nothing had passed between us. Psoriasis had become aware of our awkwardness for he watched me with a studied eye. Arabella noticed nothing; she was giddy with thoughts of swirling gowns and elegant footwork. She chatted excitably in between sips of tea.

 ‘Please eat something, my darling.’ Anne ordered, looking at her daughter’s full plate, forgotten in her excitement.

 ‘Oh mama, I simply could not eat a bite, I am too nervous!’ Arabella exclaimed as she, nonetheless, daintily shovelled scrambled eggs into her mouth. We three hid own grins. Suddenly a thought came to Arabella and she put down her fork with a clatter. ‘What if no one will dance with me, mama?’ She asked, genuine fear dancing in her eyes.

 ‘That will not happen, my pet.’ Psoriasis declared. ‘Once everyone sees you in your new gown dance your first set with me the young men will be clamouring to take your hand.’ Fear dissolved into excitement once more, whether at the thought of having her first set accounted for or at the apparent scores of gentlemen desperate for her hand, only Arabella knew.

 ‘And will you dance with me too, Captain Bellingham?’ Arabella turned to look at me, the colour rising in her fair cheeks. I glanced quickly at her mother for approval before replying.

 ‘It would be a great honour, Miss Arabella.’ Satisfied that she would indeed be the bell of the ball, Arabella returned to her breakfast with gusto.

 ‘I suspect your dance card will be filled very early on, but should you find yourself without a partner, I would be honoured if you would step my way.’ Anne asked later that morning as we made our way to the Dancing Bear. Arabella was at her lessons and Psoriasis calling upon an acquaintance so that I enjoyed a rare moment alone with Anne who’s company I was beginning to enjoy.

 ‘It is often the custom for ladies to ask the men to dance?’

 ‘Often,’ Anne nodded coyly, slipping on a patch of ice. I took her arm in mine to steady her. ‘Often the men leave the asking to the last minute and so miss out.’ She looked up at me as she placed her free hand on my supporting arm.

 ‘Well in that case, allow me to secure your hand now.’ Anne blushed slightly at my turn of phrase. ‘I mean for the dance, of course.’ I added hurriedly. Anne laughed a laugh of many tinkling bells. I hadn’t heard her laugh often over the past week and never with real joy but I resolved myself to make her laugh more often. Her whole face glowed from within when she laughed and the years disappeared from her eyes. We walked in silence the rest of the way although, I am not ashamed to say, that I walked a little closer to her than was considered proper in polite society.

   We returned from the Dancing Bear late in the afternoon in order to change for the ball. Anne had provided me with her late husband’s wardrobe throughout the week and tonight had provided me with an evening suit of the finest quality. I was at first uncomfortable to wear the clothing of the man who had broken Anne’s heart more than a decade ago, but she assuaged my fears by informing me her husband had taken the clothing he had favoured with him. The wardrobe he left behind he had almost never worn. After William had assisted in my toilette I made my way downstairs and to the front parlour where Anne, already dressed in dark blue, waited staring into the fire.

 ‘Do you have children, Captain?’ She asked without looking up.

 ‘No my lady, I was a military man from a young age and it never seemed fair to drag a wife and children after the regiment.’ I wondered at my easy use of past tense. I still was a military man. A week and a half could not change that.

 ‘There is nothing more conflicting to a woman than seeing her children grow up. Tonight my daughter will attend her first ball; soon she will marry and have children of her own.’

 ‘Speaking from a son’s perspective, children will always cherish their mothers.’ Anne looked at me kindly and took my hand in her own.

 ‘You are kind, my friend.’ She spoke warmly and I believe she would have said more but at that moment her neighbour burst through the door in all his evening elegance. Anne pulled her hand away and stepped back, turning to face the fire again. But Psoriasis had seen enough. He said nothing but there was mischief in his eyes,

 ‘Good evening, my darlings. And where is my goddaughter?’

 ‘She’ll be down in a moment.’ Anne stepped from the fire and perched on a nearby chair, her skirt ballooning about her. As though bidden, Arabella entered the parlour followed by her maid, Clare, carrying hats and coats for her two mistresses. Anne let out a small sob at the sight of her daughter shyly entering the room. ‘Look at you, my dear, quite grown up.’

 ‘My pet, I do not think you need worry about lack of partners tonight. Indeed, I wonder if I am worthy to have the first dance.’ Psoriasis seemed genuinely stunned at his goddaughter’s appearance even though he had had the gown commission for her to compliment her complexion. Arabella stepped forward and took Psoriasis’ hands.  

 ‘But it must be you, no one else will do!’ She declared fervently, Hardcastle handed me my coat as Anne pulled on her own, though I noticed she turned away to dry her eyes.

 ‘Come my dear, we shouldn’t be late.’ She rallied herself and helped Arabella into her coat. The ice was so slick on the ground that it prohibited easy movement of the carriage so Anne suggested that we walk. Hardcastle and Clare brought out heavy snow boots that fit over our evening shoes, the ladies hitched up their skirts and we began the trek across town. The distance was not far for the ball was being held at the home of Lord and Lady Westmore, who lived on the other side of the square. By the time we reached the Westmore’s all of our cheeks and noses were rosy from the cold but we were warmed through from the exercise. The Westmore’s greeted us eagerly when we had been divested of coats and boots. Lady Westmore was petit and dark as I realised many Nenjiran maids were. Her husband, Lord Westmore, was tall with a neatly trimmed moustache and goatee.

 ‘Captain, it is such a pleasure to finally meet you.’ Lady Westmore greeted cheerfully as I politely kissed her hand. ‘There are many ladies within who are eager to meet you.’ She added, gesturing towards the ballroom.

 ‘I shall do my best to satisfy them all.’ I replied. As I made to move on Lord Westmore placed a hand on my shoulder.

 ‘The card room is to the left should you require a rest.’ He whispered conspiratorially so his wife could not hear as she chatted with Anne. I bowed my head in thanks and stepped into the ballroom. Immediately Arabella was swept onto the dance floor by her godfather. Next to me Anne made an unladylike noise and turned to face me.

 ‘You may consider me forward but I’d rather my first dance tonight not be with Squire Brockhurst.’ There was a panicked look in her eyes as she delicately indicated a portly gentleman making his way towards us, wafting a lace handkerchief about his face as though he were plagued by a foul smell. Without another word I gather Anne into my arms and stepped into the waltz. Anne was graceful as she matched my footwork and kind when I fumbled. More often than not she guided me and we danced in perfect equilibrium, which I discovered later was common in Bordonia.

 ‘Forgive me, Captain, that was terribly rude of me but the Squire has a tendency to hold a lady too close and he favours his cologne over much.’ I laughed.

 ‘It is fortunate that the good Squire approached when he did for a bevy of ladies were eyeing me as a butcher eyes a prime cut.’

 ‘You must forgive us, Captain. We do not often receive visitors in Bordonia.’ I sighed.

 ‘Can I expect not to leave this dance floor tonight?’

 ‘I am afraid so, we Bordonians are prodigious dancers.’ We continued about the floor but I had lost track of our surroundings for a moment later we collided with another couple. We laughed it off and they continued on when I realised how closely I was holding Anne, her hands on my chest as she looked up at me with troubled eyes. ‘Oh dear, I fear we are leaving ourselves open to gossip.’ She breathed, however she made no move to increase the distance between us and we stood together for what seemed an eternity. Eventually, Anne closed her eyes and stepped away. ‘Please excuse me, Captain.’ She muttered hurriedly and swept away leaving me to wonder after her as the first of many ladies engaged my hand. Anne returned to the ballroom several dances later, chatting gaily and dancing elegantly, but she avoided my gaze for the rest of the night. A gaggle of eligible ladies occupied my night and I did my duty to them and their mothers, politely dancing with them in turn but my mind was ever on Anne and the wounded look in her eyes.

   At the end of the night, in the press of leaving groups, Psoriasis approached me.

 ‘Anne has taken Arabella home so you will have to content yourself with my humble company.’ We were walking in silence across the town as I continued to ponder how I had offended Anne when Psoriasis spoke. ‘Anne has lived solely for her daughter since her husband left that I do not think she remembers how to live for herself.’ He said sadly.

 ‘What do you mean?’

 ‘Nothing, only give her time, my friend.’ When we returned to the house we met Anne in the drawing room, Arabella asleep on her lap. She smiled at our entrance. Clare followed us in with port and supper and gently lifting Arabella from her mistress’ lap took the child to bed. Anne looked after her daughter with loving eyes.

 ‘She thoroughly enjoyed herself tonight, and how beautiful she has grown.’ Psoriasis handed her a glass of port.

 ‘She was a vision on and off the dance floor.’  Psoriasis moved to stand by the fire. ‘Well, the Westmores have once again out done themselves.’

 ‘Yes, they do throw a very good party.’ Anne concurred as she sipped her drink. The two chatted idly to each other for a time, I being pre-occupied with my own thoughts to fully engage. Eventually Psoriasis made his goodnights and Anne declared it was time to retire.

 ‘My lady, please forgive me if I offended you this evening. That was never my intention.’ I offered cautiously as Anne stood to leave. She smiled kindly at me and laid a gentle hand on my arm.

 ‘No, it is I who must apologise for abandoning you. I am mortified by my behaviour. I was surprised for it has been many years since I have truly enjoyed myself in the ballroom. Can you forgive me, Captain?’ She pleaded. I took her hands in my own in a flurry of emotion.

 ‘Will you dance with me again, my lady?’ Anne smile broadened.

 ‘It would be a pleasure.’

   The next morning, I was the first down to break my fast. Arabella joined me moments later looking every bit the newly out lady. It was sometime before Anne joined us. Arabella looked at the clock when her mother entered the room, a curious look on her face. Anne kissed her daughter affectionately on her blonde head before taking her seat.

 ‘Did you sleep well, my darling?’ She inquired. Arabella merely nodded, looking at her mother with suspicious eyes. ‘And how are your apartments, Captain? Do you have all you require?’

 ‘I do, thank you my lady, nothing can be improved upon.’ Arabella turned sharp blue eyes to me as though she was trying to figure out a puzzle.

 ‘Excellent!’ Anne took a handful of letters offered her by Hardcastle, thanking him as she glanced through them. She handed two letters to Arabella, placed one aside and opened the fourth. After reading its contents she exclaimed.

 ‘The Brockhursts have invited us to Christmas dinner, to be followed by music and dancing. How delightful.’ Anne’s manner did seem more animated this morning then the week previous but I simply asked.

 ‘Did I not meet Squire Brockhurst last night?’ I flapped my hand in front of my face in an effeminate manner. Arabella giggled at my imitation.

 ‘Their uncle, yes. He’s a kind enough fellow just a little too much personality. Well Arabella, my darling, how fortunate your godfather ordered you a second gown.’ Arabella’s face lit up at the mention of a new gown. ‘And when we head to Terpsichorea you shall have a new wardrobe.’ Arabella near buzzed with excitement, her puzzle forgetten.

 ‘May I be excused?’ She asked with strained control. Anne nodded and, gathering up her letters, the child skipped from the room.

 ‘I do believe you’ve made that girl’s day.’ I remarked. Anne smiled into her teacup. When Psoriasis entered the breakfast room, Anne greeted him warmly. The gentleman frowned.

 ‘Yes, Arabella said you were acting strange this morning.’ He remarked as he sat down next to his friend. Anne laughed.

 ‘What nonsense, I am perfectly well. I simply enjoyed myself last night.’ She declared. Psoriasis shot a look at me, eyebrows poised to waggle. But he mastered himself and poured out a cup of tea as he agreed the night had been a sterling success.

 ‘I brought around Arabella’s gown; I trust you are going to the Brockhurst’s dinner.’ It was not a question as Psoriasis could see the invitation laid out before Anne.

 ‘I’m looking forward to it; I do so adore the Brockhursts.’

(Dinner/Dance at Brockhursts’)

We were a merry little party that evening. Anne had allowed Arabella to sit up with us and she sat quietly on the sofa continuously glancing at the clock on the mantelpiece. We chatted and laughed and danced when Arabella began to play the piano. There was little room to jig about the furniture in the drawing room and the abundance of the wine meant we soon flopped down onto our seats in hysterics. Finally the moment came when the clock ticked towards midnight. Arabella excitedly pointed at the clock.

 ‘Mama, Mama, it is time!’ She declared. Calmly, Anne pushed her daughter’s pointed finger down and handed her a glass of wine. We counted down joyfully and when the clock chimed midnight we raised our hands in celebration and toasted the New Year. Psoriasis planted affectionate kisses on his friend and goddaughter and enthusiastically shook my hand. After kissing her daughter, Anne shyly kissed my cheek, the colour rising in her already rosy cheeks. She lingered a mite longer than would be considered proper but when I placed a hand on her waist she hurriedly stepped back and wished me a happy New Year before gathering Arabella into her arms. I am ashamed to admit that in that moment, the wine having gone to my head, Anne’s behaviour frustrated me. I wished only to take her into my arms and kiss her and assure I would never leave her side but she would not let me get close to her.

 ‘Well, here’s to 1884!’ Declared Psoriasis, charging his glass before draining it.

 ‘Here’s to new adventure.’ I added boldly. We remained celebrating for several hours after midnight until the lateness of the hour and the wine began to drain our enthusiasm. We saw Psoriasis off from the entrance, singing loudly to himself as he stumbled next door. At the top of the stairs Clare took Arabella’s hand from her mother’s and led her down the hall. I turned to bid Anne goodnight, leaning in to kiss her cheek. She turned her head and our lips met rather awkwardly. I began to apologise but she silenced me with another kiss, more confident this time before she bid me goodnight and disappeared into her bedroom. That kiss haunted what little sleep I had that night and when I finally roused for breakfast I was exhausted and distracted. Anne was alone in the breakfast room when I entered, her tea cup clattering on the saucer when she saw me.

 ‘Good morning,’ she greeted cheerfully if somewhat strained. ‘Please forgive my behaviour last night, I’m afraid I over indulged in the wine last night. I woke up with the most terrible headache this morning.’

 ‘I believe we all over indulged last night.’ I replied moodily as I took my seat. Anne was startled by my tone, for she said no more and returned shyly to her breakfast. I reproached myself for allowing my emotion to complicate an already awkward situation.