Overall, there was a general lack of activity, even for February.
It was hard to determine if Mr. Warden was incompetent or simply too over-taxed to properly address problems. Alex suspected it was likely a combination of both. Would hiring a more capable steward and a separate man of affairs be sufficient to address the issues?
Alex didn’t know.
They hadn’t had a reply from Mr. Argent, the former man of affairs for the marquisate.
And until then, Alex would simply continue to gather evidence.
Days passed andFebruary melted into a blustery March.
This year, however, Lottie’s heart no longer drowned in grief and mourning. Spring loomed like sunrise, a glorious awakening she couldn’t wait to greet.
Granted, Alex contributed to her sense of optimism. Somewhere over the weeks, their tentative camaraderie had become a deeply-satisfying friendship.
At times, Lottie feared she viewed Alex as considerably more than a friend.
Would a mere friend occupy so much cranial space in such a short period of time? Truthfully, what had she spent her time pondering before his arrival?
Now, she replayed their conversations over and over. The hoarse timbre of his voice as he spoke of his brother’s horrific death. The way his eyes crinkled at the corners when he laughed.
The soft pressure of his lips when she had kissed him . . .
“What would it take for you to eat some sugar?” Lottie asked him one particularly-dreary Friday in early March.
Alex looked up at the question.
They were sitting side-by-side at a large table in the library, both replying to correspondence in companionable silence. Rain pattered against the windowpanes.
Dreich weather, Alex called it.
“Why would I eat sugar?” A smile tugged at Alex’s lips. “That’s a rather odd place to begin a conversation.”
Lottie sat back in her chair and indulged in the simple joy of staring at him.
Alex lounged beside her with coiled strength, his braced leg extended. His shoulders amply filled out his tailcoat and the muscles in his upper arms pressed outward on his sleeves.
Heavens but he was a finely-formed man.
She particularly liked watching him write, the way his long fingers held the quill pen, the flex and ripple of tendons across the back of his hand. He had even walked her through the names of said tendons once, holding out a fist for her to examine as he pointed and labeled each one—pollicus longus, extensor indices, extensor digitorum, digiti minimi.
The sight of Alex dragging a pencil across the back of his hand, naming tendons, shouldnothave set her heart to pounding and yet,everythingabout the man was a hammer to her good sense.
“I was merely pondering the idea of sugar,” she said. “You allow Galahad a bit of sugar and yet not yourself.”
He shrugged. “Why eat it?”
“No, I think the proper question iswhy not?” She grinned. “Why not eat sugar in moderation? It is hardly deleterious like strong drink or opium.”
“Why do ye eschew meat?”
Lottie smiled broader. If he thought to trip her up, he should have known better by now.
“We’ve touched on this before. I choose not to eat meat because I cannot abide the thought of ingesting another living thing. I agree with Mr. Shelley and others that our practice of consuming our fellow creatures is cruel and unnecessary. An animal is capable of affection and kindness; the least I can do is not eat them in return. But I do not see the same ideological restriction applied to sugar.”
A grin touched his lips.
Lips I’ve kissed.
