The days that followed were a strange mixture of pleasure and confusion.
Edward was everything he had presented himself to be; attentive without being overwhelming, interested without being intrusive, patient without being passive. He sought her out at every gathering, claimed her for dances at the evening entertainments, arranged for them to be seated together at meals. His pursuit was gentle but unmistakable, and Lillian found herself responding in ways she had not expected.
She laughed more than she had in weeks. Their conversations ranged from agricultural theory to philosophical speculation, from childhood memories to hopes for the future. Edward spoke of his plans for his uncle's estate with a passion that reminded her, painfully, of Daniel but without the shadows, without the weight of ancient trauma darkening every word.
He was easy. That was the thing she kept returning to. Being with Edward waseasy, in a way that being with Daniel had never been. There were no walls to navigate, no wounded places to avoid, no constant fear of saying the wrong thing and watching him retreat.
On the third evening, however, something shifted.
The gentlemen had rejoined the ladies in the drawing room after dinner, and conversation had turned to the management of estates; a topic that had been prompted by Sir William Drake's interminable complaints about his steward's incompetence.
"The problem," Lillian observed, during a brief lull, "is that most stewards are trained to maintain rather than improve. They learn to preserve what exists, not to innovate. If landlords wish to see genuine advancement, they must either educate their stewards in new methods or be willing to take a more active role themselves."
It was the sort of comment she had made to Edward a dozen times in their private conversations. He had always engaged with it, debated it, built upon it.
Now, in company, he did something different.
"An interesting notion," he said smoothly, his eyes sliding past her to address Lord Hartwell, who had been listening with polite boredom. "I have often thought that the key to agricultural improvement lies in the landlord's direct involvement. A steward, however competent, lacks the personal investment that an owner brings to his property. It is a point I was just making to my uncle last month."
Lillian blinked.
He had taken her observation, her words, her idea, and presented it as his own. Seamlessly, effortlessly, as though she had not spoken at all.
She told herself it was a coincidence. Perhaps he had not heard her clearly. Perhaps he had been formulating the same thought independently. These things happened in conversation.
But then it happened again.
Later that evening, when the talk turned to the recent poor harvests in the north, Lillian mentioned a technique her father had employed to protect vulnerable crops from early frost; a method involving strategic placement of haystacks to create windbreaks.
Edward nodded along as she spoke, his expression attentive. But when Mr. Theodore Crane asked for clarification, it was Edward who answered.
"The principle is quite simple," he said, leaning forward with the confidence of a man explaining his own expertise. "One places the haystacks at calculated intervals along the northern edge of the field, creating a barrier against the prevailing winds. The technique has been used with considerable success in Hertfordshire, I understand."
In Hertfordshire, where Lillian's father had developed the method, where Lillian had just said it came from.
She stared at him, waiting for the acknowledgment; the "as Miss Whitcombe was just explaining"or even a glance in her direction.
It did not come.
Edward continued his explanation, expanding on details Lillian had provided, accepting the admiring nods of the gentlemen as though he had invented the technique himself. And when he finally finished, he turned to Lillian with a warm smile that suggested he had done her some kind of favor.
"I hope I did not bore everyone with the technicalities," he said, his voice pitched for her ears alone. "I know ladies are not generally interested in such matters."
Lillian felt something cold settle in her stomach.
Ladies are not generally interested in such matters.
She had spent the past three days discussing exactly such matters with him; in detail, with enthusiasm, with a depth of knowledge that had seemed to impress him. And now, with a single sentence, he had relegated her to the category of "ladies" who found agricultural techniques tedious.
"On the contrary," she said, her voice carefully neutral. "I find the subject fascinating. As I believe I mentioned when I first described the technique to you."
Something flickered in Edward's expression; surprise, perhaps, or the faintest hint of discomfort.
"Of course. I did not mean to suggest…..I was merely summarizing for the benefit of those who might not have heard your earlier comments." He smiled, but there was something slightly strained about it now. "You must not think I was taking credit for your father's innovation."
"Must I not?"
The question hung between them, sharper than Lillian had intended. Edward's smile faltered.
