"He said you were brave, Vanessa. That you were never afraid to want things. That most people spend their lives standing on the shore. And then he looked at you …” Helena shook her head. "As if he wanted to be brave too."
The words struck something deep in Vanessa's chest. “I fear your imagination has run quite away with you. Martin was simply being philosophical."
"That was not philosophy. That was a confession."
"A confession of what?"
"I do not know." Helena's eyes were searching, concerned. "But something is different. Something has changed. And I think you know what it is, even if you will not tell me."
Before Vanessa could respond, the door opened, and the gentlemen returned.
There was music as Helena was persuaded to play, her fingers dancing across the keys with quiet competence while Edward watched her with barely disguised adoration. There was conversation with Lady Wayworth holding court about the upcoming social events, Lord Deane was earnestly discussing something with Mr. Crawford, Mrs. Crawford and Aunt Bertha were exchanging observations about the weather.
And through it all, Vanessa was aware of Martin.
He did not approach her again. Did not seek her out for private conversation or meaningful glances. He was simply...present. A gravitational force she could not escape, no matter how hard she tried to focus on other things.
But once,just once,she caught him watching her across the room. And in that moment, his expression was unguarded in a way she had never seen before. There was something raw in his grey eyes, something almost vulnerable.
Then he noticed her looking and the mask fell back into place, smooth and impenetrable.
Had she imagined it? Had she seen what she wanted to see, rather than what was actually there?
She did not know. She could not know.
And the uncertainty was driving her mad.
"Lady Vanessa."
Lord Deane appeared at her elbow, his expression hopeful. "I wondered if you might like to take a turn about the room? I find myself somewhat restless after such an excellent meal."
"Of course." She took his offered arm, grateful for the distraction. "I would be happy to."
They walked in silence for a moment, moving along the perimeter of the drawing room. Lord Deane seemed to be gathering his thoughts, his brow slightly furrowed.
"I hope I did not embarrass myself earlier," he said finally. "With the Duke. I fear I may have been... overly enthusiastic."
"You were perfectly fine."
"You are kind to say so, but I know I can be…" He sighed, running a hand through his hair. "I admire him, you see. Lord Montehood. He is everything I am not. Confident and commanding, effortlessly charming. His words carry a weight that commands the attention of every ear. His opinions are sought with the greatest solicitude, and his entrance into any assembly never fails to create a sensible stir.
"You have your own qualities, Lord Deane. They are simply different."
"Different." He laughed softly, without humor. "Yes, I suppose that is one way to put it. I am dependable….steady. The kind of man people forget about the moment I leave the room."
"That is not true."
"Is it not?" He looked at her with something like wonder. "You are the first person who has ever suggested otherwise. The first person who actually sees me. Not my title, not my fortune just me. Do you have any idea how rare that is?"
Vanessa felt a pang of guilt because she did see him and saw his kindness, his earnestness, his genuine desire to be a good man. But she also saw all the ways he was not Martin. All the ways he would never be Martin.
It was not fair to him. None of this was fair to him.
"Lord Deane…"
"Christopher," he corrected gently. "Please. I have asked you to call me Christopher."
"Christopher." The name felt strange on her tongue. Not unpleasant, but unfamiliar. "I want you to know that I value our friendship. Truly."
