“He’s been intrigued by Lady Catherine since he learned she’d studied art in Rome,” Reginald confided. “Apparently, they share acquaintances among the expatriate circle. I trust you don’t object to his interest?”
“That depends entirely on the nature of that interest,” Adrian said coolly.
“Entirely honourable, I assure you. Timothy’s a good lad—obsessed with his buildings, perhaps, but steady. And he cares little for gossip.”
They turned to watch as the young man greeted Catherine. Marianne saw her sister-in-law’s surprise, then the quick, radiant smile that followed. Within moments, they were deep in animated discussion, Emma Carstairs looking on with obvious delight.
“Well,” Marianne murmured. “That’s unexpected.”
“But not unwelcome,” Adrian murmured back, though his eyes remained fixed on his sister with protective intensity.
***
The evening progressed with surprising smoothness. The initial confrontation with Lady Harrison seemed to have fixed her place beyond challenge; several matrons even sought her out with deliberate warmth. She spoke of investments with one group, charitable subscriptions with another, and endured a discussion of fashion without embarrassing herself.
Adrian never strayed far. She began to notice the small, telling courtesies— a fresh glass of champagne appearing as hers emptied, a subtle shift of his stance to shelter her from a draught she had not felt, his hand at her elbow as they navigated the crush. Tiny gestures others might miss, but to Marianne, they spoke volumes. This was Adrian’s way of loving: protection and meticulous attention.
Catherine, meanwhile, hadn’t left Lord Timothy’s side. They had progressed from discussing Roman architecture to debating the finer points of perspective—both, it seemed, were amateur artists—and were now animatedly recalling their favourite views of the Colosseum.
“She looks happy,” Marianne observed during a brief moment alone with Adrian.
“She looks young,” he said, but his tone was wondering rather than critical. “I had forgotten she could look like that—enthusiastic about something besides guilt.”
“Lord Timothy seems genuinely kind.”
“He seems genuinely smitten.” Adrian’s jaw tightened. “If he hurts her—”
“You will make him rue the day he tried, yes, I’m aware.” Marianne touched his arm gently. “But perhaps allow him a chance first?”
“Perhaps,” Adrian conceded grudgingly.
As though conjured, Lord Timothy approached with Catherine on his arm, both a little flushed.
“Your Graces,” he bowed. “Might I have permission to call upon Lady Catherine tomorrow? We have discovered a mutual admiration for Piranesi’s architectural fantasies, and I have a folio she may like to see.”
Adrian studied him with a predator’s stillness. To his credit, the young man neither fidgeted nor looked away, though his free hand tightened at his side.
“You may call,” Adrian said at last. “At two. For tea.”
“Thank you, Your Grace.” Relief brightened the youth’s face. He turned to Catherine with an eager smile. “Lady Catherine, it’s been an absolute pleasure. I look forward to tomorrow.”
When he was gone, Catherine turned shining eyes upon her brother. “He does not care about the scandal. He said anyone who survived what I did must be remarkably strong.”
“And you believed him?”
“I… yes. He seemed sincere.” The light dimmed a fraction. “Was I wrong to?”
Adrian hesitated, then sighed. “No. He appeared genuine enough. Only—be cautious. Not everyone is what they appear.”
“I know. But isn’t it worth the risk to find out?”
Before Adrian could reply, the musicians struck up a waltz and Lord Harrison materialised at Marianne’s elbow.
“Your Grace, may I have the honour? I owe you an apology for my wife’s behaviour.”
Marianne glanced at Adrian; he gave the smallest nod. Lord Harrison was harmless, and the gesture would read as generous.
“Of course, Lord Harrison.”
