“Your Grace–”
“It will survive.”
His hands adjusted the collar near her throat. They lingered a fraction longer than required. She did not step back.
The rain came down steadily now, blurring the edges of the garden. Guests hurried past them toward shelter, laughter rising and fading in waves. Margaret tilted her face slightly toward the rain beyond the branches.
“They will talk about this,” she said.
“They talk regardless.”
A carriage rolled hastily along the drive. Somewhere near the pavilion, a lady shrieked as her hem soaked through. Margaret’s fingers tightened slightly around the edges of his coat.
“I have never enjoyed being looked at,” she said quietly.
The admission was unexpected.
“You are looked at often,” he replied.
“Yes,” she nodded, her gaze remaining on the rain. “It always felt like an assessment, and one that I always seemed to fail at. Today was the first time it did not feel like that.”
He studied her profile.
“What did it feel like?”
“Justice, I suppose. I have always tried, and it has never been appreciated. At last, it feels as though I am truly being seen for who I am, rather than the shadow of my sisters.”
The rain softened slightly, though it had not yet stopped. He found himself speaking before calculation intervened.
“Personally, I have never enjoyed looking at anyone,” he said.
Her head turned toward him slowly.
“Until now.”
The words were quiet, but they were undeniable. She did not laugh. Instead, she searched his face carefully, as though testing the sincerity there. He held her gaze.
“I find,” he continued, “that looking at you makes me feel as though I am doing a good thing.”
“Why?”
“Because you do not attempt to please me. There are no pretenses with you, and I appreciate that more than you could know.”
The rain thinned further, falling now in scattered drops rather than sheets. She looked down briefly at the coat around her shoulders, then back at him. Another gust of wind shook theleaves overhead, sending a fine spray outward. She stepped closer instinctively, seeking the driest part of the space.
He was aware, acutely, of her proximity. Nearby, guests began to reemerge cautiously, laughter resuming with less urgency. Margaret glanced toward them.
“The spectacle is ending, it would seem.”
“Yes, it would seem to be the case.”
But she did not move away. Her fingers loosened slightly at the collar of his coat. The rain reduced to a mist, and he reached forward, adjusting the coat once more before removing it from her shoulders. This time, his hands did not linger. They stepped back into the open lawn together.
Conversation resumed around them, but as they rejoined the gathering, Nathaniel was aware of something altered. The rain had scattered the crowd, and it had also stripped away pretense, and as Margaret walked beside him once more, he knew with a clarity that surprised him that he was no longer simply spending his time with her out of duty.
He wanted to be beside her.
Voices drifted closer through the thinning rain. A young couple hurried past the oak, laughing too loudly for the size of the garden. The gentleman cast a glance in their direction, and Nathaniel saw it, but he did not step away.
