The word escaped him before he could stop it; raw and unguarded, nothing like the controlled speech he had practised all his life. Lillian paused, turning to look at him with an expression that made his chest ache.
"Yes?"
He should say something. Anything. An explanation, an apology, a dismissal that would restore the proper distance between them.
Instead, he simply stood there, looking at her across the fire-lit room, unable to find the words for what he felt.
The clock on the mantel chimed the hour. Somewhere in the house, a door closed.
"Goodnight, Your Grace," Lillian said quietly.
She curtsied and turned toward the door.
Daniel did not stop her.
But when she reached the threshold, she paused and looked back at him; a long, searching look that seemed to see straight through to his soul.
Neither of them spoke.
Neither of them needed to.
Chapter Eight
"And when Lady Smith asks about my accomplishments, I shall simply smile mysteriously and change the subject. That is what sophisticated young ladies do, is it not? Smile mysteriously?"
Lillian laughed, watching Rosanne attempt to arrange her features into an expression of sophisticated mystery. The effect was more comical than alluring, and Rosanne herself dissolved into giggles after a moment.
"I believe sophisticated mystery requires rather more practice than we have time for," Lillian said. "Perhaps we might focus on a different approach."
"Such as?"
"Such as honesty. When Lady Smith asks about your accomplishments, you might simply tell her the truth; that you paint watercolours with enthusiasm if not precision, that you read widely and think deeply, and that you have no interest in performing like a trained animal for the amusement of your social betters."
Rosanne's eyes widened. "I cannot saythat."
"Perhaps not in those exact words. But the sentiment, suitably softened, might serve you well." Lillian linked her arm through Rosanne's as they walked along the lane toward the village. The morning was bright and crisp, the hedgerows glittering with the remnants of an early frost. "Lady Smith respects confidence. If you approach her gathering as though you have nothing to prove and no one to impress, she will find you far more interesting than if you try to be something you are not."
"You make it sound so simple."
"It is not simple. But it is true."
They walked in companionable silence for a moment, their footsteps crunching on the gravel lane. The village was perhaps a mile ahead, and they had decided to walk rather than take the carriage; partly for the exercise, partly for the privacy it afforded them away from the watchful eyes of servants.
"Lillian?" Rosanne's voice had gone quieter, more uncertain.
"Yes?"
"May I ask you something? You need not answer if it is too personal."
"You may ask."
"Last night. After the dinner. When I left you alone with Daniel." Rosanne hesitated, her fingers tightening on Lillian's arm. "Something happened, did it not? Between you and my brother?"
Lillian felt her cheeks warm despite the cool morning air. She had been expecting this question, dreading it, in truth, ever since she had emerged from the sitting room to find Rosanne waiting in the hall with an expression of barely contained curiosity.
"Nothing happened," she said carefully. "We spoke briefly. Then I departed."
"But the way he looked at you..."
