"You wereexactlythat obvious. I've had people ask me about it. Multiple people. Lady Ashworth cornered me at the Haberton soiree last month to inquire whether my sister and my best friend were having a secret affair."
"What did you tell her?"
"I told her she was imagining things, because I assumed…foolishly, it seems…that if youwerehaving an affair, you would have had the decency to inform me." Edward lowered his hands, his expression somewhere between exasperated and resigned. "All this time, Martin…”
"Are you angry?" Martin asked quietly.
Edward was silent for a long moment. When he spoke, his voice was calmer, more measured.
"I should be. I should be furious. My best friend has been secretly holding affections for my sister for so many years, and neither of them thought to mention it to me." He shook his head slowly. "But mostly I'm just annoyed that it took you this long to do something about it. Do you have any idea how exhausting it's been, watching you both suffer in silence? Trying to decidewhether to intervene or stay out of it? Hoping that one of you would eventually come to your senses?"
"You knew?" Vanessa asked. "All this time, you knew?"
"Of course I knew. I'm not blind, Vanessa. And I'm not a simpleton, despite what Mother sometimes suggests." Edward ran a hand through his hair, a gesture that reminded her suddenly of Martin. "I've known about Martin's feelings for years. I suspected about yours. I was simply waiting for one of you to do something about it."
"Why didn't you say anything?"
"Because it wasn't my place. Because I thought if I pushed, I'd only make things worse. Because…" He broke off, sighing. "Because I was afraid. For both of you. Martin's reputation isn't exactly spotless, and I worried... I worried he might hurt you. Or that Society might hurt you both."
"Edward…"
"I know, I know. It's not my decision to make. And I can see now that I should have said something years ago." He looked at Martin, his expression softening slightly. "You really love her? This isn't just…I don't know…infatuation, or convenience, or…"
"I am devoted to her,” Martin said quietly. "I have been since the day she threw a cushion at my head and called me an insufferable pedant. I have cherished her through every argument, every dance and every miserable moment of pretending I felt nothing. And I will be devoted to her until the day I die, whether she chooses me or not."
Edward was quiet for a long moment, his gaze moving between them. Then, slowly, he nodded.
“Very well then.”
“Very well?”
"Very well, I believe you, and if this is what you both want…if this is truly what will make you happy…then I won't stand in your way." He paused. "But Martin, I promise you this, if youharm a single hair on her head, and I shall make it my life’s work to see you utterly ruined.”
"I would expect nothing less."
"Excellent." Edward took a breath, squaring his shoulders. "Now, we need to get back inside before someone comes looking. Vanessa, your hair is still a disaster. Martin, that cravat is beyond salvation."
"I'll stay out here," Martin said. "Smoke a cigar or something. I shall leave you, then, to see Vanessa suitably settled.”
"That's probably wise." Edward offered his arm to Vanessa. "Come on. We'll go through the servants' corridor. With any luck, we can get you to the retiring room without anyone seeing."
Vanessa hesitated, looking at Martin. There was so much still unsaid between them. So much that needed to be discussed, decided and resolved.
But Edward was right. This wasn't the time or place.
"Tomorrow," Martin said, as though reading her thoughts. "We'll talk tomorrow. Properly. There are things I need to tell you, things you should know before we go any further."
A flicker of unease passed through her. "What things?"
"Nothing bad. I promise." He reached out, brushing his fingers against hers, a brief, secret touch. "Just... things. We'll talk tomorrow. Two on the hour, at the bookshop on Piccadilly."
"I'll be there."
Edward was already steering her toward the doors. But just before she stepped inside, she looked back.
Martin was standing where she had left him, half in shadow, his ruined cravat fluttering in the nonexistent wind. He looked disheveled and disreputable and utterly, devastatingly handsome.
He also looked happy. Genuinely, incandescently happy with an expression she had never seen on his face before.
