“I believe she values stability.”
“And nothing more?”
“That is what we agreed upon.”
His sister’s mouth curved faintly, not in amusement.
“You and your agreements.”
“They prevent chaos.”
“They also prevent closeness.”
He did not respond. A knock sounded softly at the rear door, one of the discreet deliveries he had arranged. Nathaniel moved quickly to intercept it, stepping outside to exchange quiet words with the grocer.
“Everything as ordered?” the man asked.
“Yes.”
“No one has asked questions.”
“See that they do not.”
The grocer nodded and departed without lingering. Every visit required precision. Every decision carried weight. One wrong rumor, one loose tongue, and his sister would be dragged through the same merciless scrutiny she had barely survived.
When he finally mounted his horse again, the sun had risen fully.
The ride back felt longer.
He thought of Margaret standing in his study, asking him directly whether he was avoiding her. He had not been. He had been preserving something fragile, yet the look in her eyes had unsettled him.
“I asked for nothing more,” she had said.
And he had taken that as instruction. By the time he returned to Ravensmere, evening shadows had begun to stretch across the drive.
He dismounted slowly, fatigue settling into his shoulders. Inside, the house felt warmer than it once had. Fires burned brighter. Margaret had changed the atmosphere of the place.
He paused in the entry hall, removing his gloves. Mrs. Hill appeared as though summoned by instinct.
“You have been away,” she observed. “Again.”
“Yes.”
“She asked for you.”
His jaw tightened slightly.
“When?”
“This afternoon.”
“And?”
“She did not wait.”
He absorbed that.
“She is not unaware,” Mrs. Hill added carefully.
