"Oh," Alfred said again, because he had no idea what else to say. Was this good? It was what he'd hoped for the entire time he'd been away, but there was no guarantee that she was single still because she had waited for him. There would have been no doubt in his mind about that had they been having this conversation in September, but the months of silence had sewn seeds of doubt that had begun to take deep root. It wasn't as though she hadn't heard, which he had suspected for the first month of his return. She'd admitted as much already when she'd started out the conversation with definitely not dead, then. His being alive and in England was not coming as a surprise to her here and now.

Even if she did still feel that way, what were they meant to do now? Marry? When he had proposed to her so many years ago he had had grand notions of what his life would be like after the expedition. He was meant to be famous, and well-off, laden with riches from abroad and exotic new knowledge. Instead, he had returned penniless, or near enough to it. Everything he'd earned or raised from sponsors in the meantime had been poured into the expedition, which didn't exactly put him in a good place to be supporting a wife. He didn't even have a house, he was living in his cabin on the god damned boat.

The boat that was leaving in a month. Merlin, he was leaving in a month. Even if she did want to pick up where they'd left off, what was he supposed to do in a month?

"When I didn't hear from you or see you, I thought — well, I thought you must be avoiding me," he admitted, with a slight flush.