“Why does that trouble you?” Roderick asked, quieter now.
James’s voice was clipped. “Because if she begins to matter, she becomes a weakness.”
“We will have eyes on Harrowby’s men,” James said. “We will listen. We will watch who approaches me. Who approaches her.”
“And if danger comes too close,” Roderick said softly, “what then?”
James did not answer at once, then he forced his voice into steadiness. “Then I will move her away from it.”
Roderick nodded once, satisfied.
“Then it is settled” Roderick said, rising, “you should stop pretending she does not already matter because she obviously does.”
James’s stare could have cut stone as Roderick bent and gathered the papers together. Every muscle in him was taut because he could plan for Harrowby, and for spies and ledgers and knives hidden behind politeness.
But he had no plan for the way his wife had begun to look at him lately as if she might be worth the cost of breaking every single one of his rules.
CHAPTER 20
Eleanor woke with the strange certainty that she had forgotten something.
It was one of those unseen, delicate pieces that held an entire event together. The sort of detail that, if missed, would not reveal itself until the room was full and watching.
The day of the ball had arrived.
The morning was cold, pale sunlight stretched thin across the windows, and the estate hummed with that controlled strain particular to a great house preparing to host theton. Footsteps moved quickly behind closed doors. Voices carried and then fell silent again.
Eleanor could not sit with it.
She dressed without calling for her maid, tied her cloak herself, and slipped out before anyone could intercept her with questions. The air outside bit at her cheeks, sharp and bracing.
She welcomed it.
Blackmere Park lay in its Spring composure. It looked serene, but Eleanor knew serenity could be manufactured.
As she walked, she recited the list in her mind.
Invitations sent. Responses received. Household staff assigned to posts. Carriages timed. The musicians paid. The punch bowls polished. The receiving line arranged. The floor prepared so the chalk did not track on hems and slippers.
And the candles.
She nearly turned back immediately just to confirm, but the absurdity of it made her force her feet forward.
“I am not a girl preparing for her first assembly,” she murmured to herself, though her heart disagreed.
Her traitorous thoughts tried to drift to James.
He had been absent more often than present these last days, but today he would be here. Today he could not vanish into the estate or into whatever business held him. Today he would standbeside her before a room full of people who would evaluate every breath between them.
Eleanor’s stomach tightened.
She told herself her unease was only responsibility.
And then she thought of the gown waiting upstairs and felt heat rise beneath her collar.
She reached the east drive where the gardens met the open lawn and slowed, forcing herself to breathe. A servant crossed the path ahead carrying a crate of sprigs of evergreen and pale leaves, the kind that would look like seaweed under candlelight.
Underwater, Eleanor reminded herself.
