Little Love Affair (Southern Romance 1)

“I must speak,” Cyrus said passionately. He untucked her fingers from his arm and took both of her hands in his. “Clara, you must know that I have always admired you.”

Clara stared at him mutely, unable to come up with a clever answer, and—she worried—completely unable to stop this.

“Running the farm is too great a burden for you,” Cyrus said earnestly. “I’d help you with it. You would be free then, Clara. You could have everything you want. You would be at home with the children, not out in the fields with roughened hands.” His fingers stroked over hers before tightening. “I could give you the life you deserve.”

“That’s very kind,” Clara managed. He must not say it—she could not let him say it. She must think of some way to distract him. “But, Cyrus—”

“It isn’t kind. Kindness is for strangers. Clara, I love you.”

She should have pretended to faint. Clara stared dumbly at him. “You’ve been one of the family for years,” she said, not wanting to hurt him. How did one respond to something like that?

“And I would like to care for you all,” he told her. “Family cares for its own. But Clara...to you, I want to be more.”

“I...” She stared up at him. In the past few days, while trying to think up ways to convince herself to marry him, she had instead thought often about how to tell him she could not love him. She imagined saying it gently, and speaking of the girls in town who did wish to marry him—for there were many. She imagined telling him how much happier he would be with another woman, for she was sure that he would be. A woman not so quick to retorts. A woman with delicate manner. In her imagination, Cyrus always nodded seriously and told her that she was right and he had been blinded by his feelings of duty to her brother. They parted amicably, Cyrus embracing Millicent and promising to watch over the family until Solomon returned, but now, at this most critical moment, Clara could not remember a single word of her speech—and she was quite sure that staring was not going to help anything.

“Clara, do you think you might ever look upon me as more than a brother?” Cyrus asked her.

“I...” Oh, dear. She couldn’t think of anything to say.

“I have loved you for years.” His face was gentle. “Surely you must know it. No one would make a better husband for you than me. I would be kind to you. I would protect you. It is so dangerous for you here.”

“Dangerous?” It was hardly the point of his speech, but Clara felt her brow furrow. This, here, was what had always infuriated her about Cyrus. When they were little, he would insist on helping her out of trees they climbed. When she was twelve and wading in the river to look at dragonflies, he had decided to that the current was too fast and carried her to shore over her protestations that she was perfectly safe.

“The war is raging,” Cyrus insisted. “The Confederacy is desperate, and they care nothing for what we have here. Anything might happen. You should have someone here with you.”

“You can hardly hold off an army by yourself,” Clara said reasonably. “We have my father’s shotgun.”

“Perhaps I should move you to town,” Cyrus said worriedly.

“Cyrus, I don’t need to be saved.”

“You’re so brave,” he told her admiringly. “However you don’t understand the dangers. If anything happened to you, I’d never forgive myself.”

“The Confederate armies aren’t going to march here,” Clara said, trying not to snap at him.

“Who knows what they might do? Clara, these men are not like you and me. They’re trying to tear the Union apart. They’re madmen. They cannot be trusted.”

“Their generals, perhaps. But not all of them.”

“Not all of them?” Cyrus repeated, his face blank. “How could you know that?”

For once, she had an answer to his smug superiority, and she could not use it. Because I know a Confederate soldier, she wanted to say. Because he asked for help when he could have killed us and taken what we owned. “How can you know they’re all madmen?” she asked instead. “Surely if the Confederacy was composed solely of pirates and highwaymen, we would have had some indication of it before now.”

“You always see the best in people,” Cyrus said after a moment, smiling forcedly. “Clara, I’m afraid I must do what I can to assure your safety—”

“Cyrus, even if they do march, we’ll have warning.” Clara yanked her hands away.

I’m afraid I must do what I can... What nonsense.

“I would feel better if you were in town.” He reached out to tuck an errant lock of hair behind her ear. “With me.”

“I have to get back,” Clara said, hearing her voice rise with panic. “I left in the middle of the bookkeeping, you see.”

“Clara, will you not give me an answer?”

She shook her head, wishing desperately that she had the courage to say the answer was no.

He did not understand. He drew himself up and gave a slow nod.