Henry stared at Caro, struggling to process what she had said. He hardly dared to allow himself to hope, but…
“Caro,” he said, “are you saying you’ll marry me?”
“I cannot marry a man who lies to me. Who won’t tell me the truth.”
“Oh.” He must have allowed himself to hope, because now he felt deflated. “I see.”
“Henry,” she cajoled, “why can’t you just tell me?” He tried to look away, but she reached up and caressed his uninjured cheek, turning him back to her. “I’m so confused—it’s as if you prefer death to telling me the truth.”
Henry gave a bleak chuckle. “You understand me at last, Caro.” Because that was the way it was with men. Physical acts of courage were part and parcel. They were expected.
Whereas admitting your troubles, your weaknesses? That was anathema.
“Should it not b
