Yet as she waited for the carriage, her thoughts drifted once more to Lucas.
Does he regret it? Does he think it folly? Or… does he feel as I do?
She thought of little else during the drive to Bond Street.
The milliner’s shop was warm and bright, scented with lavender sachets and polished wood. Ribbons, feathers, and silks gleamed beneath the lamps. Catherine was already there, examining a display of pastel trims with unfeigned delight.
“Elowen!” she cried, hurrying forward to clasp her hands. “You’ve saved me—I should be utterly lost among so many choices.”
“I doubt that,” Elowen said, laughing.
“Henry insists he likes blue, but he says so of every shade I hold up. I think he only wishes to please me, which is charming—but hardly useful.”
“He sounds very obliging,” Elowen replied with a smile.
They wandered together through the displays, selecting lengths of satin and gauze. Catherine’s chatter was bright—colours, fashions, which lady had copied another’s gown—but her tone softened as she shifted the subject.
“Let us speak of Lucas,” she said suddenly.
Elowen nearly tripped. She bent over a bolt of ribbon with unnecessary interest. “What of him?” she asked, a little too quickly.
“Lucas has always been protective. He would not encourage me if he doubted Henry’s sincerity. And truly, Elowen, I have never been happier.” Catherine’s eyes glowed. “Have you noticed? Henry listens—not with the empty nodding oneendures at assemblies, but as though he truly hears. It is the rarest gift.”
Elowen’s heart steadied. “Yes,” she said quietly. “I have noticed.”
They drifted toward a counter where an assistant arranged samples. Catherine lowered her voice further, her eyes fixed keenly on Elowen. “Lucas seemed distracted this morning. I told myself it must be business, but perhaps…”
She paused delicately, watching Elowen’s face.
“Perhaps?” Elowen prompted, pretending close study of a ribbon.
“Perhaps something weighs on him besides business.”
Elowen’s cheeks warmed before she could help it. She looked down quickly. “I cannot imagine what you mean.”
Catherine smiled knowingly. “You cannot, can you? Well—I shan’t press. I am glad of your company, regardless.”
Elowen felt gratitude well within her. She didn’t know if she was ready to talk about it yet, when she had yet to come to terms with what had happened herself. Catherine asked no prying questions, yet her presence offered room for confidences, which Elowen appreciated.
They continued in lighter conversation, speaking of Henry’s steadiness, of how some young ladies found such temperament dull.
“At first, I thought him too quiet,” Catherine admitted. “Not… exciting enough. But I was foolish. There is depth beneath that calm—more substance than all the empty charm of others. Once I saw it, I could never think him dull again.”
Elowen traced the edge of a pale lavender ribbon. “Sometimes the surface deceives. What lies beneath—that is what matters.”
“Exactly.” Catherine gave her hand a brief squeeze. “You understand.”
Elowen smiled faintly. “Perhaps I do.”
When they left the shop, parcels in hand, the morning sun had grown bright. Elowen glanced across the busy street—and froze.
Victor stood there, speaking to a gentleman, but his gaze was fixed sharply upon her. It lingered too long, too intent.
Despite the warmth of the day, a chill crept down her spine.
Catherine followed her glance. “Oh—isn’t that Lord Cherrington? He does look rather intent.”
Elowen forced composure. “Yes.Intentis the word.”
