“What do you think?” she asked, arching a brow.
“You do not seem to like them.”
“It is not the flowers I dislike,” Elowen said, picking back up her book. “They have done nothing to me, I suppose.”
“Is it the man, then?”
“William,” the baroness said in a warning tone.
William looked at his mother, his brow furrowed, serious for once. “I cannot abide the man,” he declared suddenly.
Margaret’s head jerked up. “William!”
“What? You know it as well as I,” he insisted. “He is too smooth, too polished—every word measured, every gesture calculated. I should sooner trust a snake in the grass.”
“That is unkind,” Mama said, though without conviction.
“Unkind, perhaps. But not untrue. Did you see how he questioned me about my studies? And how quickly he ceased listening the moment I began to answer?”
“I noticed it too,” Elowen murmured.
Mother and son turned to her. Elowen simply shrugged.
“He asked, yes,” Mama said carefully, “but perhaps he was only making conversation.”
“Perhaps,” Elowen agreed. “But he might have put a little more effort into pretending to care. And when I walked him out, he nearly turned toward Father’s study before correcting himself—as if he had meant to go there.”
William sat back, frowning. “Has he been here before?”
“I believe so,” Elowen said softly. “He recovered too quickly for it to have been a mistake.”
They fell silent. The quiet stretched, filled only by the gentle tick of the mantel clock.
Mama broke it at last. “He is a suitor, Elowen—or wishes to be seen as one. We should be grateful for his attention, not suspicious of it.”
Elowen set her book aside and tried not to sigh. She knew her mother was right. Truly. And yet... “And yet, that sparks no joy in me. When he brushed my hand, I felt nothing. Nothing at all.” She lifted her gaze, steady and serious.
“What of the Duke of Beaushire, then? Does hespark joyin you?”
Elowen twisted towards the fire, not wanting anyone to see the flush on her cheeks. “The Duke is different. He is... not Lord Cherrington.”
William gave a short, humourless laugh. “Thank goodness for that.”
Mama shot him a reproving glance, but she did not contradict him.
Suddenly feeling restless, Elowen rose and moved to the window, parting the curtain with a finger. The garden seemed to glow under the morning sunlight. The world beyond seemed ordinary, calm, and yet she felt as though some invisible thread had been tugged tighter around them.
Something told her there was more to Victor’s visit. He had not merely come to deliver flowers and poetry. His true purpose, she suspected, had not been to call onherat all—she felt it as keenly as if he had spoken it aloud.
But what did it matter? He could not have made his intentions clearer: he wished to court her—perhaps even marry her—and for that, she should be grateful.
Shouldn’t she?
***
Night came, and the house had grown quiet.
Mama and Papa had retired early, and William had withdrawn to their father’s study, muttering about notes he must order before he forgot them. Elowen found her way back to the parlour after dinner, a single candle flickering beside her and the book Victor had given her lying unopened on the side table.
