“I owed you no public announcement.”
“No,” she agreed. “But I believed I was owed something.”
He regarded her steadily.
“You were mistaken.”
Her composure wavered for the first time.
“Was I?”
“Yes.”
“You pursued me.”
“I did not.”
“You sought my company.”
“I attended gatherings where you were present.”
“You ensured we were seated beside one another.”
“I ensured nothing. It was what you asked of me.”
“You cannot pretend indifference.”
“I never declared attachment.”
“You did not need to. You allowed proximity,” she pressed. “You allowed speculation. You allowed me to believe–”
“I allowed nothing beyond civility.”
Her breath hitched slightly.
“You underestimate your influence.”
“Believe me, I do not.”
Silence stretched between them, heavy with what had never been spoken plainly.
“I believed your attention meant intention,” she said at last.
“It did not.”
“You are cold.”
“I am clear.”
Her laugh came again, softer now, frayed at the edges.
“You think that distinction matters?”
“It does. I never once suggested to you that I planned to marry you. Many young ladies have thought that I would propose to them. I know it may feel cruel, but it is what happened.”
She turned away from him briefly, moving toward the window before facing him again.
“She is suitable,” Arabella said, voice tight. “Quiet. Composed. In need of your name.”
