She nibbled on her lower lip reflectively. "If you were never despondent in the past, melancholy would hit you all the harder for being unfamiliar. My grandfather said that his first bad spell was the worst because he feared it would never end. In time, it became easier for him to weather the moods."
Ian thought about that. Both Juliet and David had counseled patience, saying that things would improve. Laura went one step further. By matter-of-factly naming his condition, she had made it easier to grasp. Perhaps he wasn't uniquely cursed.
Melancholia. In his pre-Bokhara days, he had never quite believed in that for his own temperament was naturally buoyant. He'd vaguely assumed that people who claimed to be suffering from melancholia were simply self-indulgent. With a little effort and self-respect, they would be perfectly fine.
If what Ian had been experiencing was melancholia, in the future he would have a great deal more sympathy with those who were afflicted. "I hope you're right. But if you're and I improve greatly in the future, I might become very different from the man you would be marking."
"Everyone changes with time, Ian. I like you very well the way you are. If you learn to laugh again, I'm sure I shall like you even better. So much for melancholia." She made a dismissive gesture with her hand. "Are you an agreeable man?"
Startled by her abrupt change of direction, he said cautiously, "Probably not. How do you define agreeable?"
"In the literal sense of being willing to accommodate the wishes of others," she explained. "My mother once said that the most comfortable marriages are between two people who are both easygoing, who do not always insist on having their own way. When two such people disagree about what to do, the one who cares most about the result will get his or her way, and the other accepts it good-naturedly."
Intrigued, he said, "Your mother sounds like a wise woman. But what if there is a difference of opinion and both parties care greatly about how the issue is decided?"
"Then they fight," she said, eyes twinkling. "But I am an agreeable person—most of the time—and you seem to be also. I don't think we would fight often."
Ian thought of his own parents. His father had always had to have his own way, in matters great and small, and his mother had always submitted meekly. Ian had not been surprised when his sister rejected meekness in favor of rebellion. "I suppose I'm agreeable in the sense you mean, if not always in other ways."
"Very good." She cocked her head to one side. "Do you have any other dark secrets to reveal?"
"One more, and this may be the worst," he said with wry humor. "The lords of Falkirk were border bandits for centuries, so the family seat is built for defense, not comfort. It's one of those frightful medieval castles with twelve-foot thick walls, smoking chimneys, and ancient weapons lurking in dark corners."
"Ghosts?" she asked hopefully.
"Three or four, but they're a harmless lot. Far worse are the drafts. When the wind blows from the North Sea, it would freeze the ears off a stone elephant."
"You should not say such a thing in front of our friend Ganesha," she said with mock reproval. "And don't think you can frighten a Russian with tales of cold. Compared to St. Petersburg, your Falkirk will seem like Calcutta. We Russkis are very good at creating warmth in a frozen land."
Though her words were teasing, they were also absolutely true, for Laura had already created warmth in Ian's frozen heart. "I think I've covered the worst of my dark secrets," he said. "Do you have any to confess?"
Her levity faded and she glanced away, her absent gaze falling on the has relief next to her. "I haven't your ability to be honest about things that are deeply painful, Ian. That isn't a dark secret, but it certainly is a flaw in my character."
"If that's your worst failing, I'll be a lucky man." He smiled a little. "I suppose the only thing that would make me withdraw my proposal is if you have a husband stashed somewhere. Do you?"
She shook her head. "Nary a husband to my name."
Knowing he shouldn't rush her but unable to bear the suspense, he said, "Are you ready to make a decision, or will you need more time?"
Laura reached out and rubbed Ganesha's round, jolly belly with her palm. Ganesha, the happy god, who removed obstacles from the paths of mortals.
"Laura Stephenson is a calm, rational Englishwoman who thinks that what you are proposing is mad," she said slowly. "But Larissa Alexandrovna is a demented Russian, and she says I should grab this opportunity with both hands, for I'll never have another like it."
Hope welling in his heart, he rose to his feet and walked toward her. "Then by all means remember that you are Russian."