Georgina followed.
“It is a pleasure to meet you,” she said with gentle composure.
Alexander offered the same polite inclination of his head. “And you, Lady Tilbridge.”
Then Martin stepped forward. “Your Grace,” he said easily, offering a polite inclination of his head as he addressed Alexander.
There was nothing stiff about his manner. Martin had always carried himself with that same relaxed warmth, always moving comfortably in nearly every social setting he entered. Even now, standing before the Duke of Rosewood, his tone remained open and cordial.
Alexander regarded him for a brief moment before replying. “Lord Tilbridge.”
The words themselves were entirely correct, but their tone was not.
Diana felt it instantly. It was subtle, so subtle that most people present might not have noticed it at all. Yet there was something faintly cooler in Alexander’s voice now, something restrained that had not been there only seconds earlier when he greeted the others.
Surely, she had imagined it.
Then, Martin stepped toward her.
“Well,” Martin said with an easy smile as he came to stand beside Diana, his attention shifting casually between the two of them, “it appears you have adjusted quite well to Rosewood House.”
The remark was directed toward Alexander. There was no challenge in his words, no provocation, only the natural friendliness he had always shown her.
Something in Alexander tightened, like a faint stillness that settled over his shoulders as his gaze moved briefly toward the space between Diana and Martin.
Anger.
Diana’s pulse flickered with sudden awareness.
She let out a soft laugh, light enough to dissolve the tension that had begun to form.
“It has been… an adjustment,” she said, glancing between the two men as though the remark were nothing more than harmless conversation.
Martin chuckled. “I imagine it has,” he replied, leaning slightly closer as he spoke.
The movement was perfectly innocent, the sort of casual familiarity shared between old friends.
Yet the moment it happened, Diana felt the quiet weight of Alexander’s attention settling over the space between herself and Martin, steady and watchful in a way that stirred a faint unease beneath her ribs.
At last, she glanced sideways.
Alexander stood only a few paces away, his posture still perfectly composed, his hands loosely clasped behind his back as though he had been nothing more than a quiet observer of the entire exchange. A sudden alertness in the look stirred a small ripple of curiosity inside her.
It was gone almost as quickly as she noticed it. By the time their eyes met, his expression had already returned to its usual calm, the faintest trace of polite composure settling once more over his features as though nothing at all had passed through his mind. If anything had stirred within him in that moment, he gave no sign of it.
Curious.
The thought passed quietly through Diana’s mind as she watched Alexander for a moment longer, trying to make sense of the faint tension she had just felt ripple through the air between him and Martin. The look she had glimpsed in his eyes had been brief—so brief that she might easily have convinced herself it had never been there at all.
Still, she told herself it meant very little.
Alexander had lost his memory. That fact hovered constantly at the edge of every interaction between them, shaping each moment in ways she was still trying to understand. The entire gathering must feel strange to him, surrounded by people whose names and faces carried no meaning in his mind. Emma, Benjamin, Georgina, and Martin—all of them were strangers to him despite the easy familiarity with which they greeted her.
It was only natural that he might seem reserved. Perhaps even guarded.
Was it not?
Before she could dwell on it any longer, Lady Salford clapped her hands sharply together. The sound cut cleanly through the garden chatter, immediately drawing everyone’s attention.
