Christopher hadn’t known what to expect in looking through his deceased friend’s things, but it wasn’t the signs of violent disturbance. He had somehow imagined that no one would dare to soil Stephen’s memory by turning out his trunk.

Or perhaps it was that he couldn’t bear for anyone to do so. He didn’t want to remember that Stephen was gone, because he’d spent seven years trying to forget that it had been his fault. Honoria’s fingers covered her mouth. In her eyes was not simply horror, but also pain at the violation. She had loved Stephen so much.

She would hate Christopher if she knew the truth.

“Honoria.” He reached out to grasp her hand, pull it from her face. Her fingers trembled slightly, and he squeezed them.

She looked at him, her face luminous in the light of the candle. It struck him again, as it had when he’d first seen her enter the drawing room, how her beauty had blossomed and changed, like a rose taking on a deeper blush. There had been a time, once long ago, when he had thought he might fall in love with her, that it would be as natural and easy an act as breathing.

--Excerpt from The Gentleman's Quest by Camille Elliot