Outside, carriage wheels began to ready for action.
Inside, something in Edward had hardened beyond return.
***
The evening had the air of something already spoiled before it began.
Lady Amelia’s drawing room glowed with too many candles and too much laughter, the scent of perfume thick enough to suffocate.
Edward struggled through it as though wading through water, answering polite inquiries, nodding at half-heard commentary, offering the required smile without ever feeling it.
Lady Amelia remained at his side with determined doggedness.
If he paused, she paused.
If he turned, she turned.
If another gentleman attempted to claim his attention, she reclaimed it before the conversation could root.
“You must tell me,” she was saying lightly, her fan moving in calculated rhythm, “how Ashford fares in winter. I imagine it must feel terribly isolated.”
“It suits us,” Edward replied evenly.
“Us,” she repeated, her eyes flickering. “You and Julian.”
He did not miss the omission.
A footman approached with a tray of champagne, and in that brief interaction, Lady Amelia was drawn away by a pair of eager matrons.
Edward exhaled.
“You look as though you have been reprieved from something tedious.”
The voice came from behind him—calm, wry.
Edward turned to find Lady Victoria studying him with thoughtful composure, her expression perceptive rather than amused.
“I had not realized I appeared so obvious,” he said.
“To me? Almost painfully so.” Her gaze drifted toward the far side of the room. “And I find I am still capable of seeing what others pretend not to.”
Edward followed her line of sight before he could stop himself.
Charlotte stood near the far wall earlier, composed as ever, Julian at her side. Then she had been drawn into conversation by a cluster of ladies who wore civility like lacquer. He had not liked the way they circled her.
Lady Victoria did not miss it. “Society notices where a gentleman’s attention rests,” she said quietly. “Even when he believes it does not.”
“I hope I have offered no discourtesy,” Edward replied.
“You have offered none, she said at once. “That is precisely the difficulty.”
He held her gaze, steady. “I would not wish to mislead anyone.”
“I did not take you for a man who would,” she answered. Her tone softened. “Nor would I wish you to feel obliged where your heart is not engaged.”
The words landed cleanly, without accusation. Edward felt the instinctive urge to deny it. He did not.
“There are responsibilities attached to a name,” he said instead.
