"I should call for the carriage," she said, rising from the settee where she had been sitting with Rosanne. "The hour grows late, and I do not wish to impose further on your hospitality."
"Nonsense," Rosanne protested. "It is barely ten o'clock. And you promised to help me with my embroidery since you know I am hopeless without supervision."
"Your embroidery can wait until tomorrow. Your brother has been hosting all evening; he must be exhausted."
"I am perfectly well," Daniel heard himself say.
Both women turned to look at him; Rosanne with surprise, Lillian with an expression he could not quite decipher.
"There is no need for Miss Whitcombe to rush off," he continued, aware that he was contradicting everything he had resolved about maintaining appropriate distance. "The carriage can be called whenever she wishes. In the meantime, I believe Mrs. Gerald prepared coffee for the family."
"Coffee would be lovely," Rosanne said, with a sidelong glance at her brother that suggested she knew exactly what he was doing, even if he did not.
They adjourned to the small sitting room that the family used for informal gatherings; a warmer, more intimate space than the big drawing room where the guests had been entertained. A fire crackled in the grate, and the coffee service had been laid out on a table near the hearth.
Daniel poured—a task that did not, strictly speaking, require his attention, but which gave his hands something to do and his eyes something to focus on that was not Lillian Whitcombe.
"It was a lovely evening," Lillian said, accepting her cup with a murmured thanks. "Your tenants clearly hold you in high regard."
"They hold Wynthorpe in high regard. I am merely the current custodian."
"You undervalue yourself, Your Grace. The respect they showed you tonight was personal, not merely institutional."
Daniel looked up, startled by the observation. Lillian was watching him with that steady, seeing gaze that always made him feel as though she could read the thoughts he kept so carefully hidden.
"You are generous in your assessment."
"I am accurate in my assessment. There is a difference."
Rosanne made a small, satisfied sound and rose from her chair with suspicious abruptness. "I have just remembered, I promised to speak with Mrs. Gerald about the linens for Lady Smith's gathering. I shall return in a moment."
"Rosanne..." Daniel began.
But she was already gone, the door closing behind her with a decisive click that left Daniel alone with Lillian in the fire-lit room.
The silence stretched between them, weighted with everything that had passed unspoken throughout the evening.
"Your sister," Lillian said finally, "is not subtle."
"No. She is not."
"She wishes us to talk."
"Apparently."
"And do you? Wish to talk?"
Daniel set down his coffee cup with careful precision. His heart was beating faster than it should; faster than a simple conversation warranted.
"I am not certain what there is to discuss."
"Are you not?" Lillian's voice was soft, but there was something beneath the softness; a thread of something that might have been challenge. "You watched me all evening, Your Grace. Every time I looked up, your eyes were on me. And when I caught you watching, you looked away as though you had been caught doing something shameful."
Heat crept up the back of Daniel's neck. "I was merely…."
"You were merely fulfilling your duties as host. I understand." Lillian set down her own cup and rose from her chair. "It is late. I should go."
"Wait."
