"Nothing to forgive." The words slipped from her lips, the same phrase she had used in the stable. She caught the flicker of recognition in his eyes before he masked it.
The first course arrived—a soup of asparagus and cream—and Alice focused on her bowl, relieved to have something to occupy her hands. Around them, conversation ebbed and flowed, guests exchanging notes on the afternoon's activities, the morning's correspondence, and the evening's entertainment to come. She chimed in when necessary, her observations sharp enough to amuse but dulled of their usual bite.
Samuel was beside her with every breath. The subtle lift of his shoulder as he raised his spoon, the way his fingers curled around the stem of his wine glass with practiced ease, the warmth radiating fromhim despite his cool demeanor. The memory of their time in the stable flickered. She could nearly feel his hand against her face, his breath mingling with hers, the heartbeat before the door had crashed open and changed everything.
"The soup," Samuel said, breaking into her thoughts, "is excellent."
"Is it?" Alice glanced down at her bowl, which she had been stirring without actually tasting. "I confess I had not noticed."
"You seem distracted."
"Do I?" She met his gaze for the first time since sitting down and immediately regretted it. His grey eyes held an emotion she could not quite name—concern, perhaps caution. "I am merely contemplating the complexities of asparagus."
"A demanding vegetable."
"You have no idea."
Across the table, the baroness observed them with curiosity, her lorgnette raised as if they were specimens in an exhibit. Two seats down, the twin sisters whispered behind their fans, eager for potential scandal. Even Miss Winters, seated near the far end beside the elderly baron, glanced their way, her expression a mix of sympathy and fascination.
Alice felt herself becoming a spectacle, the last thing she desired, something she had spent yearslearning to control. She straightened her spine and summoned her brightest smile.
"Tell me, Lord Crewe," she said, raising her voice to reach nearby listeners, "have you formed an opinion on the asparagus's philosophical implications? I wonder if it represents the triumph of civilization over nature or merely the hubris of man attempting to impose order on chaos."
The question startled him. She watched his composure falter, a flicker of amusement surfacing in his eyes before he suppressed it.
"I believe," he said carefully, "that asparagus is simply asparagus. Though I admire your determination to find deeper meaning in soup."
"Meaning must be sought everywhere, Lord Crewe. Otherwise, dinner becomes merely the consumption of nutrients, and where is the poetry in that?"
"Where indeed."
At the head of the table, Crispin caught her eye and smiled, a man who had shuffled his cards precisely as intended and was now relishing the outcome. Alice felt a flash of irritation, quickly masked. She would have words with him later about the seating charts and acceptable interference.
For now, she was seated beside Samuel Baldwin,Viscount Crewe, with three more courses to go and an entire evening ahead of them.
His shoulder brushed hers again as he reached for the salt cellar. This time, neither of them apologized.
The fish course arrived with the efficiency of well-trained footmen, and Alice turned her attention to the arrangement of sole and sauce, relief washing over her. Conversation settled into the familiar rhythms of a country house dinner in the form of weather, horses, the latest London scandal shared with delight. She found herself melting into the patterns, her wit sharpening as the wine warmed her.
"The gardens here are quite remarkable," she said to Samuel, gesturing with her fork. "I understand the late Earl designed the hedge maze himself. Apparently, he believed that confusion builds character."
"A philosophy that explains much about his grandson," Samuel replied, glancing toward Crispin with dry humor.
Alice felt her lips curve into a genuine smile. "You wound our host."
"I merely observe. Observation is not the same as injury."
"A distinction that lawyers appreciate."
The exchange felt almost natural; the carefulfencing of their early acquaintance softened by everything that had passed between them. Alice allowed herself to hope that the rest of the evening might go smoothly, that they might navigate this forced proximity with grace.
Then she heard the whispers.
They came from her left, two seats down, where a pair of matrons had been talking quietly throughout the meal. Alice had paid them little attention; they were the type who appeared at every house party, comfortable in their judgments, secure in their positions, dispensing opinions casually. Their voices had been a background murmur, no more significant than the clink of silver against porcelain.
Until she heard her name.
"Lady Alice, of course," one said, her tone dripping with false sympathy. "Such a pity about her prospects. Five Seasons and still unmarried."
