She intervened smoothly, drawing Edward back into conversation with a pointed question, her charm sharpened just enough to remind him of her presence. Lady Victoria excused herself shortly after, her departure polite, unremarkable.
Amelia lingered.
Edward felt the press of the room then—the heat, the noise, and the expectation. He excused himself with his normal courtesy and stepped through the open doors into the gardens.
The night air was a relief.
Frost silvered the hedges, moonlight pooling across the gravel paths. Music drifted faintly from within, muted now, distant. Edward drew a breath he had not realized he was holding.
“Cornered already?”
Christopher emerged from the shadows with a grin, coat unbuttoned, expression far too amused.
“I escaped,” Edward replied dryly.
Christopher laughed. “Amelia has not lost her touch.”
“Nor her intent.”
“And the widow?” Christopher arched a brow. “Practical. Kind. Suitable.”
Edward frowned. “You sound like a ledger.”
“I learned from the best.”
They walked slowly, boots crunching softly against the frost.
“Amelia is determined,” Christopher continued. “She sees an opening and intends to fill it.”
“I am not an estate in need of management,” Edward said coolly.
Christopher hummed, hands clasped behind his back as he surveyed the frost-limned beds. “You are, unfortunately, a duke with a son.”
Edward did not dignify that with a response.
“And yet,” Christopher continued, voice turning thoughtful, “you looked more alive speaking with Lady Victoria than I have seen you in two years.”
Edward stopped walking and turned sharply. “That is a misinterpretation.”
Christopher only smiled. “It is an observation. Which is precisely why Amelia is irritated.”
Edward exhaled through his nose. “You find this amusing.”
“I findyouamusing,” Christopher replied lightly. “You stride about the room like a man under siege, while half the county considers you the most eligible widower in three shires.”
Edward resumed walking, jaw set. “If this is your attempt to push me toward a suitable match, you may spare yourself the effort.”
“Oh, I wouldn’t presume,” Christopher said. “Suitability is your particular obsession, not mine.”
They paused near the far edge of the garden, where the lantern light thinned, and the music from within the house dulled to a distant murmur. Edward folded his arms, the cold sharpening his thoughts.
“If you are so invested in matrimony,” he said evenly, “perhaps you should turn your attention to your own prospects.”
Christopher arched a brow. “Ah.”
“You are no longer a boy,” Edward went on. “You have estates. Responsibilities. A name that will require more than charm to sustain it indefinitely.”
“My dear Edward,” Christopher said mildly, “is this concern for my future, or an attempt to redirect the conversation away from your own?”
