"I do," she replied, surprised to find that she meant it. There was something different about Lord Deane tonight, a confidence that had been absent in their previous encounters. Without the pressure of a crowded ballroom or the need to perform for society, he seemed more... himself.
"I have been thinking about our discussion of agricultural reform," he continued, tucking her hand into the crook of his arm with easy familiarity as they moved toward the drawing room. "I have some new ideas I would very much like to share with you, if you are willing to indulge me."
"I would be happy to hear them."
"Excellent. I have been corresponding with a gentleman in Norfolk who has developed a rather ingenious system for…" He stopped himself, laughing. "But I am getting ahead of myself. There will be time enough for that over dinner. For now, tell me, how have you been occupying yourself since we last spoke?"
It was such a simple question, asked with such genuine interest, that Vanessa felt a pang of something almost like guilt. Lord Deane was kind. He was attentive and actually wanted to know about her life, her thoughts and her interests. He deserved someone who could give him their whole heart.
Not someone whose heart had been claimed years ago by a man who did not even know it.
"I have been reading, mostly," she said, which was true enough. She had spent most of the past week hiding in her roomwith books she did not actually read, staring at pages while her mind spun in frantic circles. "And writing correspondence."
That last part was also technically true, though the correspondence in question had been a single letter to Martin that she had immediately hidden away, terrified of making the same mistake twice.
"Anything interesting?"
"Nothing worth mentioning."
They had reached the drawing room, where her mother was already holding court with Mrs. Crawford, discussing the upcoming social events with the intensity of generals planning a military campaign. Lord Wayworth and Mr. Crawford had retreated to the far corner, no doubt discussing something infinitely more boring and infinitely more comfortable.
"I have been reading as well," Lord Deane offered, settling beside her on the settee. "Though I confess my reading material has been rather dry. Economic treatises, mostly and rather dense volume on soil composition that I am still trying to make my way through."
"Soil composition?"
"I know, I know. It sounds dreadfully dull. But there is something fascinating about understanding how the earth works…what makes things grow, what depletes the land, how we might…" He caught himself again, laughing self-consciously. "There I go again. You must think me terribly boring."
"I do not think you boring at all." And she meant it. There was something endearing about Lord Deane's enthusiasm, his genuine passion for subjects that most people considered beneath their notice. "I think you care about things that matter."
His expression softened, something warm and vulnerable flickering in his eyes. "Thank you for saying that. You have no idea how rare it is to meet someone who…"
But whatever he was about to say was cut off by the sound of the front door opening again.
And Vanessa's heart stopped.
"Edward!" Lady Wayworth's voice carried from the entrance hall, bright with pleasure. "And Lord Montehood. How wonderful. Do come in, do come in."
Martin's laugh,low, warm, achingly familiar drifted through the doorway, and Vanessa felt her heart stutter in her chest.
He has arrived and I shall make futile attempts at denying my emotions for him the entire evening.
Lord Deane must have felt her stiffen, because he glanced down at her with concern. "Are you quite all right, Lady Vanessa? You have gone rather pale."
"Perfectly well." She forced her voice to remain steady. "I am simply... the room is rather warm, is it not?"
"Is it? I had not noticed." But he was too polite to press the matter, instead shifting slightly to give her more space on the settee. "Shall I fetch you a glass of water?"
"No, I…thank you, but I am fine. Truly."
And then Edward appeared in the drawing room doorway, with Martin at his side.
They made a striking pair, as they always did. Edward with his easy charm and golden good looks the kind of man who made everything seem effortless, who moved through life as though it were a game designed for his entertainment. And then there was Martin…
Martin, with his dark hair and sharp grey eyes and that particular way he carried himself, as though the world existed primarily for his amusement. He was dressed impeccably, as always, in evening clothes that somehow managed to look both perfectly correct and subtly rebellious. His cravat was tied in an elaborate knot that must have taken his valet considerableeffort, though Martin wore it as though he had thrown it on without a second thought.
He looked, in short, devastating.
And he was looking directly at her.
