Daniel stood at the entrance, greeting his guests as they arrived, and tried very hard not to watch the door for one particular figure.
"Your Grace, how kind of you to continue this tradition." Mrs. Garrett pressed his hand with maternal warmth. "Mr. Garrett speaks of your father's dinners often; though I must say, the arrangements this year are far more elegant. Your mother's influence, no doubt."
"My sister's influence, more accurately," Daniel replied. "Rosanne has taken a particular interest in the preparations."
"Lady Rosanne is a credit to the family. Such a sweet girl. And I understand she has made a new friend? Miss Whitcombe from Hartfield?"
"Yes. They have become quite close."
"How lovely. Miss Whitcombe is a delightful young woman. So practical and sensible. Not at all like some of these London misses with their airs and affectations." Mrs. Garrett patted his arm with comfortable familiarity. "You could do far worse, Your Grace."
Daniel stiffened. "I beg your pardon?"
"For Lady Rosanne's companion, I mean. A steadying influence. That is what young girls need, is it not? A steadying influence."
"Ah. Yes. Quite."
Mrs. Garrett moved on, and Daniel was left to wonder whether her comment had been as innocent as it appeared or whether the entire county had begun speculating about his interest in Miss Whitcombe.
The vicar arrived next, followed by his wife and a parade of tenant families in their finest clothes. Daniel greeted each with appropriate courtesy, exchanging pleasantries about the harvest, the weather, the general state of the neighborhood. It was precisely the sort of social performance he had spent a lifetime perfecting; warm enough to convey goodwill, distant enough to maintain proper boundaries.
And then, at last, the door opened once more.
Rosanne entered first, radiant in pale pink silk that made her look younger than her seventeen years. She was smiling, genuinely smiling, not the nervous grimace she typically wore at social gatherings, and Daniel felt a surge of gratitude toward whatever influence had produced such a transformation in his anxious sister.
Behind her, dressed in a gown of deep blue that made her eyes seem almost luminous in the candlelight, was Miss Lillian Whitcombe.
Daniel's breath caught.
He had seen her many times now. In the morning room, in the gardens, in the library where she read his books without permission. He should be accustomed to her appearance, immune to whatever effect she had on his composure.
But he was not.
Tonight, she looked different. Not more beautiful, precisely, she had always been beautiful, in her quiet, unassuming way, but morepresent. More vivid. As though someone had taken a slightly faded portrait and restored it to its original brilliance.
"Daniel!" Rosanne swept toward him, her hand extended. "Is everything not wonderful? Lillian helped me arrange the flowers this afternoon. She has the most exquisite eye for colour."
"The hall looks very well," Daniel managed. His voice sounded strange to his own ears; too formal, too controlled. "Miss Whitcombe. Welcome."
"Your Grace." Lillian curtsied with her usual grace. "Thank you for including me this evening. I know the harvest dinner is traditionally a family affair."
"You are Rosanne's guest. That makes you family, for all practical purposes."
The words came out before he could consider them, and he saw something flicker across Lillian's face; surprise, perhaps, or pleasure. It was gone too quickly to identify, replaced by her customary serene expression.
"That is very kind of you to say."
"It is merely accurate."
They stood there for a moment, caught in a silence that felt heavier than it should. Rosanne glanced between them with an expression of barely suppressed delight.
"Shall we go through?" She suggested. "I believe the other guests are waiting."
Daniel offered his arm to his sister, the proper gesture, the expected gesture, and they proceeded into the great hall. He did not offer his arm to Miss Whitcombe as that would have been inappropriate, given their respective positions.
But he was acutely aware of her walking behind them, and when they reached the dining table, he found his gaze drawn inexorably to the seat she would occupy.
One place removed from my right hand, he thought.
