“So long as youareaware, I am satisfied.”
Damon dropped his fork to his plate. Startled, I looked up. He watched me with a steely gaze. In it was sorrow. Apology. After a long moment, he pushed back in his seat as if to leave.
“Please don’t go.” Lady Winfield laid a gentle hand on Damon’s arm. “I have had Cook prepare your favorite dessert.”
Iced oranges.
Damon seemed to soften at his mother’s touch, and he scooted his chair back to the table. He glanced in my direction, but I looked away before our eyes met.
I couldn’t let him see how much his spending time with Lady Margaret hurt me.
When the meal resumed, I glanced at Lord Winfield. Did he know that Damon had told me about Summerhaven’s dire circumstance and about his failing health? I doubted it, or he likely would have sent me back to London by now. And it really didn’t matter what I knew anyway, as I was not in a position to do anything with that knowledge. But when would he tell Lady Winfield?
Perhaps he wouldn’t.
If Damon married a woman of means like Lady Margaret, Lord Winfield would not need to. The estate would be secured, and his death would come whether or not she knew of his poor health. At least if she didn’t know, she wouldn’t have to worry. No. Lord Winfield had no reason to concern his wife—so long as Damon came to his rescue.
I glanced at Damon and found him still watching me, his eyes filled with an anguish that matched my own.
I returned my gaze to my plate.
Life was as cruel as it was unfair.
***
After dinner in the drawing room, Lady Winfield played a lilting melody on the pianoforte. Lord Winfield stood behind her, turning the pages of her music sheets when necessary.
I stood near the hearth with Ollie. He stood quite near and was animatedly sharing a story with me about a prank one of his friends had pulled on him back in London. Something about a chicken being set loose in his room. I didn’t know because my mind was attuned to Damon, who sat on the far end of the sofa reading his book. His dark hair curled against the curve of his neck. The way he licked his fingers before he turned each page—
No. I refocused on Ollie.
“Would you care to play chess?” Ollie asked once he’d finished his story.
Ollie did not love the game, but I was pleased he’d suggested a diversion he knew would interest me. “I would be glad to.” Truly, I needed something to anchor my thoughts to, and a game of chess was the perfect distraction.
We sat and set our pieces on the chessboard. I studied the layout and decided to move one of my pawns two spaces forward.
Ollie mirrored my move with little thought. “I forgot to mention it yesterday on our walk, but Mother said your new dress is lovely.”
“Your town’s modiste is very skilled,” I said, attempting to brush away his compliment.
“Indeed. Although I daresay it is your beauty which makes the dress, not the reverse.”
Damon shifted on the sofa.
“We shall see tomorrow at the Garretts’ ball,” I said.
“Ah yes, the ball. I’ve been strategizing how I might steal both your first setandyour supper set.”
“Is that a question, Mr. Jennings?”
He laughed lightly. “It is if you will have me, Miss Kent.”
“I will,” I said, grateful that I would not have to begin the ball alone. Then I claimed one of Ollie’s pawns.
Across the room, Damon slammed his book closed, and then his footsteps fell loudly on the floor as he crossed the room.
I peeked over my shoulder.
