Brook did not answer. He took a slow sip of water instead, eyes focused elsewhere, almost as if the question had not touched him at all. Lucy’s small smile faltered. She felt the familiar tug of concern but brushed it off, not wanting to cause a distraction in the middle of dinner by asking Brook why he was so quiet.
She adjusted slightly in her chair, placing a gentle hand on his arm. “Well,” she murmured, careful not to press too hard, “I suppose we’ll see, won’t we? You have all the time in the world to get to know her.”
Rowan’s voice carried down the length of the table, then, a little louder than before. “You mentioned roses earlier,” he said, turning slightly toward Judith. “White ones, if I recall. Are they truly your preference, or were you only being polite?”
Judith laughed, a light sound that made Anthony and Daniel glance between them with interest. “I would never insult roses by pretending affection,” she replied. “White, yes, but only when they are properly kept. Neglect ruins them entirely.”
Rowan smiled at that, the expression reaching his eyes. “Then we are in agreement. A garden reflects its keeper.”
“It does,” Judith said, amusement lingering in her gaze. “Though some people insist flowers should simply be admired, not understood.”
“I would argue otherwise,” Rowan answered, leaning back slightly, clearly enjoying himself. “My garden is dear to me. Although I do not like to say that out loud.”
Judith laughed again, and this time, Rowan joined her, the sound easy, unrestrained.
Lucy felt it before she had time to stop it. A small tightening in her chest. An uncomfortable feeling that was entirely out of place at a dinner she herself had helped orchestrate. She watched them for a moment too long, watched the way his posture softened toward Judith, the way his tone shifted when he addressed her.
It unsettled her.
She told herself it was foolish almost at once. Of course, he laughed with Judith. Of course, he spoke easily with her. That was the point of all of this. The point of the letters, the conversations, the arrangements. Seeing them together should have brought relief, should have felt like confirmation that everything was unfolding as it ought to.
Lucy lowered her gaze to her plate, schooling her thoughts. This was good. Necessary. The sooner this match took root, the sooner she could leave the house and leave behind these strange, inconvenient feelings that had begun to cloud her judgment. She would return to her work, to her independence, to the clarity she had always prized.
“What about you, Brook?” Judith asked, snapping Lucy back to reality. “How are your studies? Does Anthony help you with them?”
Brook did not respond. He kept his face fixated on his plate.
“Brook,” Rowan said, his voice dropping an octave. “Lady Judith was kind enough to ask about your studies. It is only polite to answer when you are spoken to.”
Brook didn’t look up. He was systematically shredding a piece of bread into tiny, jagged crumbs. “I don’t have anything to say to her.”
The clink of silverware stopped. Judith’s smile remained fixed, but her eyes cooled, shifting toward Rowan as if waiting to see how he handled a breach in decorum. Rowan’s jaw tightened, the muscle leaping in his cheek.
“Brook, apologize for your rudeness. Now.”
Lucy felt the sudden chill in the room. She saw the way Brook’s shoulders hunched and the way Rowan’s posture went rigid. Brook’s attitude puzzled her. He was naughty, but he was never that rude. Not when the situation called for seriousness.
But before the situation could spiral, Lucy reached out, her hand hovering just near Brook’s arm without touching him.
“Perhaps Brook is simply overwhelmed by the day,” Lucy suggested softly. “It’s a lot of pressure to be a host, isn’t it, Brook? It has been a while since you have entertained visitors, Your Grace. Perhaps he is shy. Brooke,” she turned to him, “that was not a nice thing to say. You have to apologize. I think if you give Lady Judith a chance, you’ll find she knows quite a bit about the things you enjoy. I heard her mentioning the stables earlier.”
She turned to Judith, offering a smile. “Isn’t that right, My Lady? Perhaps Brook could show you the new pony tomorrow? He’s quite the expert on the trails.”
For a fleeting second, Brook’s eyes flickered to Lucy, and he let out a sigh.
“I don’t want to show her anything,” Brook muttered, his voice trembling. “I want everyone to leave me alone. In peace. I would rather not talk.”
Rowan stood up, his chair screeching against the floor. The sound was like a gunshot in the silent room, causing Lucy to jump. “That is enough! You will not be disrespectful to a guest in this house. Stand up and apologize to Lady Judith this instant.”
“No!” Brook shouted.
He surged to his feet so abruptly that his knees knocked the table. In his haste to escape the looming shadow of his father’s fury, his arm swept across the table. The heavy crystal goblet, filled to the brim with water, tipped and flew.
The icy water landed squarely against Lucy’s chest, the water soaking through her bodice and silk skirts in a heavy, freezing wave.
“Brook!” Rowan’s voice thundered, but the boy didn’t wait. He turned and bolted from the room, the sound of a falling glass shattering against the floor echoing behind him.
“Lucy! My goodness,” Rowan hissed, his anger at his son instantly pivoting into horror as he saw her dripping wet. He reached for his linen napkin and walked over to her side. “I am so incredibly sorry. Someone get towels! Anthony, go after your brother. Stay with him. He is not to leave his chambers until I say so.”
