"Do you? Because I'm not sure I do."
"What do you mean?"
"I mean I told you things I haven't told anyone. I mean you told me things I suspect you haven't told anyone. I mean we almost..." She stopped, shaking her head. "It doesn't matter. You're leaving tomorrow after the fair."
"The day after, actually."
"Oh. Well. One extra day doesn't change anything."
"Doesn't it?"
"Mr. Fletcher...Edmund...whoever you are..."
"I'm..." he started to say "the Duke of Wexmere" but stopped himself. That revelation would change everything, and not for the better. "I'm someone who should probably maintain that safe distance you mentioned."
"Yes. You probably should."
"For both our sakes."
"Absolutely."
They stood there, agreeing to be sensible while looking at each other with expressions that suggested sensibility was the last thing either wanted.
"Marianne! Mr. Fletcher!" The land steward’s voice broke the moment. "We need judges for the emergency snow sculpture contest!"
"The what now?" Alaric asked.
"Snow sculpture contest. Since we have all this snow, might as well use it. Come on!"
And so the day continued, full of village absurdity and careful distance and moments when that distance collapsed despite their best efforts. By evening, the fair preparations were back on track, the village was exhausted but triumphant, and Alaric was no clearer on what to do about Marianne Whitby than he'd been that morning.
"Stay for dinner," Mrs. Whitby senior insisted as the sun set. "Both of you nearly froze helping today, least we can do is feed you."
"I shouldn't..."
"Nonsense. Marianne, tell him he's staying for dinner."
"Mr. Fletcher can make his own decisions, Mother."
"Not when he's making the wrong ones. Mr. Fletcher, you're staying for dinner."
And somehow, he was.
Dinner was quieter than the previous night, all three of them tired from the day's work. But there was something comfortableabout it too, sitting in the warm kitchen eating simple food while outside the village settled into evening.
"One more day," Mrs. Whitby senior said suddenly. "The fair's tomorrow, then you'll be off back to London, I suppose."
"Yes."
"Will you tell the duke about us? About the village?"
"What would you want me to tell him?"
"That we're doing our best. That we don't need much, just a landlord who remembers we exist. That his mother would be sad to see how abandoned the hall has become. He cannot even live there anymore so abandoned that it is."
"Mother," Marianne said quietly.
"It's true. That beautiful house, sitting empty year after year. It's wrong."
