Lord Coventry ran one hand over his jaw. “Then might I make a suggestion?”
She nodded. “Of course. I should be glad to hear it.”
A smile returned to his face as he looked at her again, his expression gentle as her heart cried out with desire to return to all that they had once shared. Christina silenced it quickly, deadening the sound so it would not ring around her mind.
“We could speak of our interest in forming a connection to those around us – to those we trust.”
Her eyebrows lifted. “You mean to say that you think someone near to us might have orchestrated this?”
“I cannot say, but by their responses, we might garner something more,” he suggested, as Christina began to nod slowly, her hopes quietly beginning to come to life. “I must be truthful, Christina.” His free hand reached across to settle on hers for only a few seconds, but it was enough to send her pulse into a frantic, furious quickening. “I want to know the truth for its own sake, but it is more than that for me.” Again, his eyes fastened to hers. “I want to know of it so that we can forge a path back towards one another.”
She could feel the muscles in his arm tense beneath her finger; she was sure it did not come from anxiety or confusion. Instead, it was the same thrumming eagerness that ran through her veins, a hope that something more, something wonderful would be shared between them.
Could she deny that she wanted the very same?
“If there is any possibility of that, any hope at all, then I would grasp at it with both hands,” she managed to say, her voice barely louder than a breath. “I will do whatever I can to find answers, Lord Coventry. I will speak to my family with careful caution, but in the hope that something more might be discovered. My sister already knows of all that has taken place between us, but she has not even spoken to Wickton of it, at my behest. If you wish to tell him all, then I will trust your judgement.”
“I value that more than I can express,” he replied quickly, his lips lifting in a warm, expectant smile that seemed to brighten the sunshine around them. “We are together in this, then?”
Is it too late?
The thought crept in despite the flickering spark of hope in her heart. He was waiting for her to respond, to confirm that she was standing alongside him as they began their search for truth, as they pushed away the jagged edges of the past. Slowly, she began to nod, realizing that if she were to step back from this, if she were to tell him no, it would break her in a way she did not think she would ever recover from. They were not the same people as they had been some two years ago now, the hurt, the pain, and the silence altering them in subtle but undeniable ways – but that did not mean that their love could not overcome it all. Meeting Isaac’s gaze, she saw the same edge of worry in his eyes that tugged at her own thoughts, but rather than concern her, it brought her relief. They were both as uncertain, both as unsure as each other, but that, in its own way, brought them closer together.
“Yes, we are,” she said, decisively. “We are together in this, Coventry. Let us hope that, soon, we will find some truth that will lead us to a full understanding of this confusing, painful separation that was never meant to be ours.”
Sophie had arrangedthe room with the careful precision of a chaperone who intended to be present but not intrusive. She had settled herself in the far corner near the window with her needlework, close enough for propriety but far enough that quiet conversation would not reach her ears unless it was raised to an indiscreet volume. A pot of tea sat untouched on a small table between her chair and the door.
Christina stood at the writing desk, her fingers resting lightly on the surface of the letter she had brought — her letter, the one that had destroyed everything. She had not been able to bringherself to look at it for nearly two years - until the previous evening, when she had drawn it from the bureau with trembling hands and read it as she had not read it since those first, agonizing weeks. She pressed it flat against the desk now, its creases worn soft from the many times she had read and re-read it in those first, agonizing weeks.
A knock at the door made her stiffen.
"Lord Coventry, miss." The maid stepped aside, and Lord Coventry entered, pausing briefly at the threshold. His gaze went first to Sophie — a bow, a murmured greeting — and then to the desk, and then to Christina. His expression settled into something that was not quite a smile but held the quiet warmth of one.
"Good afternoon." He carried a leather portfolio under one arm, his hat already surrendered to the butler below. "I have brought what I could find."
"Come." Christina gestured to the desk, her voice steadier than she felt. "I have mine here."
He crossed the room with purposeful strides and set his portfolio down beside her letter. Christina was conscious of the fact that he stood closer than was strictly necessary — close enough that she could catch the faint scent of sandalwood and linen, close enough that his sleeve nearly brushed hers as he opened the portfolio and drew out a folded sheet.
Neither of them mentioned it. Both of them noticed.
"Here." He laid his letter flat beside hers. "This is what I received."
Christina leaned over the desk, her eyes moving between the two documents. Side by side, the differences were at once subtle and unmistakable. Both letters bore a reasonable imitation of the recipient's handwriting — hers had been made to look as though Lord Coventry had penned it, his to appear as though it had come from her hand — but the imitations were not perfect.
"Look at the way the 'y' is formed," Christina said, pointing to a word in his letter. "There — the tail curls to the left. Yours curves right when you write."
Lord Coventry bent closer, his jaw tightening as he examined the detail. "You are right. I had not noticed." He traced the line with one finger, not touching the ink, hovering just above it. "The hand is similar enough to deceive at a glance but fails under scrutiny."
"Which suggests it was done hastily." Christina reached for his letter and held it up to the light. "And the paper — feel the weight of it."
He took it from her, their fingers brushing in the exchange. A current seemed to pass between them at the touch, and she withdrew her hand a fraction too quickly, her cheeks warming. Lord Coventry appeared not to notice, though the tips of his ears had reddened slightly.
"Lighter than what I would use." He turned the paper over, examining the edges. "This is a common stock — the sort a clerk might purchase."
Christina nodded, feeling a thread of excitement pull taut in her chest. "My father's secretary used this very grade. I would know it anywhere — the way it takes the ink, the slight roughness at the edges. This did not come from a gentleman's personal supply."
Lord Coventry looked at her. His grey eyes held a light she had not seen in them before — not quite admiration, not quite surprise, but something that warmed the space between them. "You have a sharp eye."
