And she believed him.
They sat in silence for a while after that, the kind of silence that did not require filling. She had not expected it to feel like this – like setting something down that she had not realized, until this moment, she had been carrying. She had not expected it to feel safe.
She had not expected him.
“We should go in,” she said eventually.
“We should,” he agreed, and neither of them moved for another few minutes.
When they finally did, he walked her to the edge of the garden where the path led back to the house and stopped there, watching her go, and she did not look back.
But she knew he was still watching, and the feel of his gaze on her back remained until she had tucked herself into bed, covered and safe.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Cecil had always found the fourth mornings at house parties to be the most revealing.
By then, the novelty had worn off. The guests had stopped performing for each other and had settled into their actual personalities, and the cracks in people's veneers began to show in small, interesting ways.
He had turned this observation exercise into a game of his, gathering information at such social events the way other men gathered investments – quietly, steadily, and with an eye toward eventual use. Although he was not sure when an opportunity to do so would present itself.
This morning, however, he was finding it remarkably difficult to concentrate on anyone but himself, which was a novel and thoroughly unwelcome experience.
He had been awake before most members and guests in the household. He had sat in the window seat of his room with his coffee going cold beside him and watched the garden come into the light with the expression of a man who was not successfully keeping certain thoughts of a certain late-night trust out of his mind.
He was doing it again now, in his brother-in-law’s study, his eyes staring down at a book but barely comprehending a single word he saw.
This was certainly new. His mind had always done as he asked of it.
“You look terrible.”
He looked up. Nora was standing in the doorway, which he had not heard open, wearing an expression of sisterly assessment that he had been subject to his entire life and had never successfully deflected.
“Thank you,” he said. “You look well.”
“I slept,” she said pointedly, and came to sit in the chair across from him, tucking her feet beneath her with the casualness she only permitted herself in very small company. Godric appeared behind her and settled next to his wife, with a book of his own. After pressing a kiss to Nora’s cheek, he focused his attention on his book, looking as though he did not intend to actively participate in the conversation unless he absolutely needed to.
“So,” Nora said. “How are you getting on?”
“Fine,” said Cecil.
“With the gathering. With the matchmaking process. Penelope mentioned that you had enlisted her assistance. Have you found anyone of interest?”
The mention of Penelope made something twist awkwardly in his chest, and he forced himself to remain nonchalant. He knew Penelope would never have volunteered that information freely, and his sister was not above making him think otherwise.
Still, he felt, for a reason he couldn’t fathom, faintly irritated by the question. “I am still… assessing.”
“It has been three days,” Godric observed from behind his book.
“I am aware of that, thank you.” Cecil rolled his eyes, considering tossing his book aside.
“There are several very agreeable young women here,” Nora said, with the tone she used when she was being carefully neutral about something she had strong feelings about. “Lady Ashworth. Miss Pemberton. The Hartley sisters are both charming, though I confess I think Eleanor is perhaps more suited to–”
“I have spoken with all of them,” Cecil said. “They are perfectly pleasant.”
“But?”
“But nothing. I am simply taking my time.”
