Just as she lifted the steaming cup, he strode through the door.
She did not tease him withHappy Christmas. It would break his heart to realize his many acts of kindness were very much in line with the Cressmouth spirit.
“Good morning.” The low caress of his voice heated her more than the tea in her hands.
She blushed. “Good morning.”
He took his seat behind his grandfather’s grand desk as if he belonged there. As if they both did.
“How goes the aviary?” she inquired.
His blue eyes lit with satisfaction. “Almost done.”
Her stomach twisted. His achievement should make her happy. Bidding him a final farewell was what she wanted. Wasn’t it?
He leaned back in his chair, his manner confident. “Shan’t be long now. The only missing piece is a ceremonial bird and a broken bottle of wine.”
Noelle had never felt less like drinking champagne.
“Thank you for the tea,” she said. “And the chair.”
He shrugged this away as if such gifts were an everyday part of any man’s morning routine. “You are good at your post. You might as well be comfortable while doing it.”
The sentiment was bittersweet. As she was helping him leave, he was helping her stay. Nothing had changed.
“What are you working on?” he asked.
She held up one of Mr. Fawkes’s old journals. “Deciphering this.”
“Can I help?” Silkridge asked.
She nearly dropped the book in surprise. “There’s only one left to do after this. It’s the last volume on the right. You’ll find fresh journals on the row beneath.”
Without delay, he retrieved the old volume and its new replacement and returned to the desk to work.
Noelle watched in silence for a long moment. Soon, she couldn’t keep the words back any longer. “Don’t you have more important things to do?”
“Yes.” His clear voice was matter-of-fact. “But all the things I should be working on are hundreds of miles away. As soon as I return home, I will devote myself to catching up on all my responsibilities. Until then, why not be of service to you? After all, it’s just one more day.”
Just one more day.
The words were icy balls of bitter hail, pelting into her with each cold syllable.
She tried to calm the erratic beating of her heart. Why now? Why like this?
The distance between them had been so much easier when she could despise him. Now that she knew him better, she realized she had hated a version of him that had perhaps never existed.
It wasn’t that Silkridge didn’t care about her. It was that he cared about everyone else more. The House of Lords. England, the collective. His duty to every one of this country’s noble citizens. His responsibilities to his dukedom. Noelle could never compete with that. She was an orphan, a clerk, a nobody. Their destinies could never entwine.
But with every moment she spent with him, the more she wished for a future she could never have.
Despite having no interest in Christmas or his grandfather’s castle, Silkridge was seated behind the old man’s desk performing the duties of a common clerk. Not because it would aid the castle, but because it would helpher.
That was only the latest in a long string of surprises. From the first, Silkridge had made no disparaging comments about finding a female at the helm of the counting house. The opposite. Rather than try to talk Noelle out of her choices, he respected them. Had gone out of his way to make the small room in which she spent the majority of her time into a cozier place. He was doing his best to make her life better.
She would miss him all the worse.
Her fingers trembled as she toyed with her plume. “Do you like London?”
