“If you wish,” he added, more lightly than she had ever heard him speak.
“I thought you were occupied.”
“I was,” he said. “I am not anymore, not if you do not want me to be.”
There was something different about him. His posture was less rigid. The tension she had grown used to seeing in his shoulders seemed absent, replaced by a calm she did not recognize. She hesitated, then stepped fully back into the room.
“I truly did not mean to interrupt,” she said again.
“You did not,” he replied. “Well, I suppose that you did, but I am glad of the interruption.”
That surprised her. She glanced around the study, then back at him.
“You are in a good mood.”
“I have reason to be.”
She smiled faintly. She did not know quite what had brought it about, but she was pleased regardless.
“Do you disapprove of my good humor?” he asked.
“No,” she said quickly. “I simply did not expect it.”
He gestured toward the chair opposite the desk.
“You may sit, if you like.”
She did. The fire crackled softly between them, and for once the silence did not feel heavy. Cassandra studied him without meaning to, noting the ease in his expression, the way he seemed almost approachable.
She found herself liking this version of him, and that realization unsettled her.
“You look less inclined to lecture me now,” she said cautiously.
“Do not tempt fate.”
Her smile widened despite herself. For a moment, she forgot why she had come down the corridor at all. The silence was companionable, and part of Cassandra did not want to break it, but she could not help herself.
“It is strange,” Cassandra said, tracing the edge of the chair with her fingers, “how much is expected of women without anyone ever asking what we might want.”
George looked at her, attentive.
“We are meant to be agreeable,” she went on. “To adapt, to fit ourselves into whatever role is deemed most useful. There is very little room for hesitation, or doubt, or choosing differently. If we do, we lose our place in society entirely.”
“Do you believe men are afforded that freedom?” he asked.
“Some are,” she replied. “At the very least, they are not judged for having ambition. They are celebrated for it, in fact.”
He considered this.
“Responsibility is not absent from their lives, though.”
“Is it comparable?”
“In some cases,” he said, “it is even heavier.”
She frowned slightly but did not interrupt.
“The higher the title,” George continued, “the greater the burden attached to it. And titles rarely arrive clean. They come with histories, debts, expectations. With mistakes.”
