Margaret studied him carefully. In truth, they had no control over the situation, but Nathaniel could not bring himself to worry. They were married, and Miss Arabella was a scorned young lady. He knew who would be listened to.
“You truly believe this is finished?”
“Yes.”
There was no hesitation in him on that point. Margaret’s fingers tightened slightly where they rested against one another. Her gaze softened, though something cautious remained.
“Then I will not ask more.”
He watched her for a moment longer. He did not want her to be uncomfortable in her own home, at least not if he could help it.
“You may.”
“I know,” she said quietly.
That answer struck deeper than he expected. She turned slightly toward the window, glancing out at the fading light.
“I only asked because I would rather hear it from you than from someone else.”
“You will,” he said.
She nodded. The silence between them shifted. It was not heavy, but it was not light either. It carried awareness.
Nathaniel studied her profile, the way the light caught in her hair. There was no demand in her tone, only the simple request for truth.
“I did not invite her,” he repeated.
“I assumed as much.”
“She came to ensure there was no misunderstanding.”
“And there is none?”
“None.”
Margaret turned back to him.
“Very well.”
She began to step toward the door, then paused.
“For what it is worth, I do not enjoy unexpected visits from the past.”
“Neither do I,” he said.
She gave a faint nod.
“Then I suppose we agree on something. I will leave you to your evening.”
“You do not need to,” he replied.
“I know,” she said again.
She moved toward the door. As she passed him, the faint brush of her sleeve against his coat sent a sharp awareness through him. At the threshold, she stopped once more.
“Thank you,” she said.
“For what?”
