She stayed there for a long time. Because she was not yet ready to go back to the part of the house where she would have to pretend she was fine. And she was not quite fine.
She had wanted him to stay. Not just in the room.
She had wanted him to stay, finish the sentence, and let whatever was on his face be on his face. She had wanted it with an earnestness that frightened her more than anything that had come before it, more than the library, more than the nursery in the morning, with his hand on her waist and the world reduced to four inches of warm air.
She looked at the wooden horse.
Anthony.Of course, it is Anthony.
She laughed, very quietly, to herself in the empty room. Then she straightened and went to dress for dinner, all while telling herself she was perfectly all right.
But she was not perfectly all right. She was somewhere considerably past the point whereall rightwas available as a destination.
CHAPTER 22
James arrived at seven.
He had not been invited at seven. He had been invited to accompany them to the Pemberton ball, which began at nine, and had apparently interpreted this as an invitation to arrive two hours early and make himself comfortable in the drawing room with William’s brandy.
“You look,” he said, settling back in his chair with the ease of a man entirely at home in a house that was not his, “like a man who has spent considerable time on his cravat.”
“What do you mean? I always spend time on my cravat.”
“You spend the appropriate amount of time on your cravat. Tonight, you have spent more than the appropriate amount.” He fixed William with the knowing look that William had been enduring for fifteen years and had never successfully deflected. “Where is she?”
“Getting ready.”
“How long has she been getting ready?”
“That is not information I have.”
“You’ve looked at the stairs three times since I arrived.”
“I am keeping an eye on the time.”
“The clock is there.” James pointed at the mantelpiece. “The stairs are there. You have been looking at the stairs.”
William picked up his brandy.
James looked at him for a moment. “William…”
“Don’t start.”
“I haven’t said anything.”
“You were about to say something utterly ridiculous.”
“I was about to ask whether you had considered–”
“James.”
James lifted his glass in a gesture of temporary retreat and looked at the fire. “The Pembertons have invited most of the county,” he said, in a bored tone. “Lady Ashford will be there.”
“I know.”
“After last time–”
“I know.”
