“With pleasure,” Victor said—without any.
“Gladly!” William launched into a detailed explanation that would have sent any sensible man running for the door.
By the time Mama interjected to rescue the marquess, he looked thoroughly dazed. “Lord Cherrington, will you attend the Hartwell ball?” she asked brightly.
“Certainly, my lady,” Victor said, revived. His gaze slid to Elowen. “And I should consider myself most honoured if you would grant me a dance.”
Mama nodded in approval. Elowen smiled politely, the perfect mask in place. “If the evening allows it, my lord.”
He looked wholly satisfied—as though no other reply could ever have occurred to him. And perhaps it would not have, Elowen thought; he was a marquess, after all, and she the unfortunate lady who ought to feel herself favoured by his notice.
When tea was brought in, Elowen took up the pot—as was expected of her—and began to pour. Victor watched her with studied interest, accepting the cup she handed him. As she passed it across, his fingers brushed lightly against hers—a contact far too deliberate to be accidental. The knowing gleam in his eye confirmed as much.
No one else seemed to notice. It was a moment meant for them alone. And yet, for all his careful boldness, the touch stirred no warmth in her.
A spark of disappointment lanced her. How easy would it have been if she had felt something? Something, anything like what she felt when the Duke of Beaushire only looked at her.
“Are you enjoying your tea?” she heard the marquess ask, and she nodded without thought, her mind on someone else entirely.
On Lucas.
On how he had stood beside her at the museum, proper, how he had not even On how he had stood beside her at the museum—so proper, so careful—not even allowing their sleeves to brush. And yet every nerve in her body had been alive, as though they were the only two souls in the room.
Victor’s deliberate contact left her cold. Lucas’s restraint had set her aflame.
The realisation unsettled her.
Conversation carried on a little longer, thankfully without including her. Elowen didn’t think she could focus on anything else. Mama led the charge, engaging the marquess as much as she could, mentioning Elowen’s talents and beauty as many times as she could in one conversation. William seemed amused by it all, and Lord Cherrington responded like a man observing a steed he wished to purchase.
Finally, after about an hour of Elowen wishing she were anywhere else, the marquess decided to leave.
“Elowen will see you out, my lord,” Mama said.
“I’m sure he knows his way by now, Mother.”
“But it is only proper, dearest.”
Elowen kept her expression serene. “Of course. Shall we, my lord?”
Victor’s smile widened, and Elowen resigned herself to following him out of the room with the full knowledge that the butler would be waiting on the other end. They couldn’t be alone, after all.
As soon as they stepped out of the study, Lord Cherrington shifted to the left, as if to head deeper into the house, but he caught himself a second later.
“Ah,” he huffed when he saw that she’d noticed. “I must have lost my bearings.”
Elowen said nothing, just nodding. But it was rather odd. The only room in that direction was her father’s study.
Lord Cherrington must have come here before. She could feel it.
Elowen said nothing as she followed him to the front door, then gave her farewells. Feeling lighter now that he was gone, she made her way back to the parlour.
Mama was the first to speak. “Well,” she said, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “That was... pleasant enough, was it not?”
William muttered something under his breath.
“Did you say something?”
He hesitated, then shrugged, turning to Elowen. “What will you do with the flowers?”
