A lump rose in Alfred's throat while simultaneously his heart skipped a beat. Of course that was what he wanted her to say, because of course that was what he wanted to hear. But it made things difficult, because it really would be easier — certainly for him but probably for both of them — if he left. It didn't even matter where he went, so long as he wasn't here in England, running into her and being constantly reminded of all of his feelings. Reminded of everything he wanted and wouldn't be able to have.

He wished he had a crystal ball, and some skill in divination. It would be easier to know what he ought to do now if he knew how things would end up. Maybe if he left she would forget about him, because she was still relatively young and he knew how easy it was for people to change, over time. Maybe in a few years she'd be happily married to some other guy — and if that was the case, it would make it easy to know what the right thing to do would be: to leave and let her get on with it. If he was just going to leave her miserable and missing him, though — and he would be in the same situation somewhere else — and this was just it, how things were going to be for them from now on — how could he consciously make that decision? Particularly when she'd just asked him not to?

With some difficulty given that he still felt weak and sore, Alfred sat up completely. He moved to sit with his legs hanging over the edge of the bed towards her, then patted the bed besides him. "Come here," he said. When she did, he wrapped his arm around her shoulders and pulled her in to a half-embrace while still sitting side-by-side, bringing her head to rest on his shoulder.