“That,” Leticia said dryly, “is what makes it remarkable. And slightly improper.”
“Improperly intriguing,” Felicity countered.
Leticia stood and turned from the mirror, her gaze lingering on her reflection a heartbeat longer than necessary. A baron, a dance, and a smile she hadn’t meant to give, unsettling. She drew a breath, steadying herself before facing her cousin. “You’re still in your gown.”
“I was waiting to see if you’d admit you liked him.”
“Get up,” Leticia said, gesturing toward the screen. “If you crush that hem, I shall never hear the end of it from your maid or mine.”
Felicity giggled and scrambled upright, half-skipping toward the screen with her slippers in hand. “You’re terribly serious for someonewho smiled at a baron.”
Leticia paused, letting the smirk form before turning away. “I smile at all manner of men. It keeps them from asking questions.”
Behind the screen came the rustle of fabric and a low, satisfied sigh. “Do you think he’ll call anyway?”
Leticia, now in her nightdress, returned to the dressing table and resumed the slow work of braiding her hair.
“He struck me as the sort of man who doesn’t call unless there’s a purpose. And one dance at a middling assembly may not qualify.”
“You remember it.”
“I remember the conversation.”
A pause.
“You liked him.”
“I said no such thing.”
“You didn’t dislike him.”
Leticia secured the end of her braid with a ribbon and met Felicity’s eyes in the mirror.
“He was… not uninteresting.”
Felicity grinned. “Which, coming from you, is the same as declaring undying affection.”
“If I ever declare undying affection,” Leticia said calmly, “you have my permission to faint with style and summon the physician.”
Felicity laughed again and slipped under the coverlet just as Leticia dimmed the lamp. The room fell quiet, still enough for her own thoughts to sound louder than the night.
Leticia slid into bed and lay still, staring at the ceiling.
Her cousin would return to London in the morning. She, on the other hand, had no desire to go back. Her aunt had taken her in after her parents’ passing, and Eastbury Manor had been her home ever since.
The baron’s expression came back to her, cool, assessing, almost distant. And yet he’d offered his arm, asked her to dance, and thankedher as though it mattered.
Not uninteresting, she thought again, and closed her eyes.
*
The next morningbrought fog, a lingering haze of perfume, and secrets. Before breakfast, Captain Gabriel Ashcombe had received a gold token, his summons.
Now he stood in front of Lord Barrington’s townhouse. It was square, respectable, and entirely unimpressed with itself. He resisted the urge to adjust his cravat. He hadn’t worn his uniform in months, but something about Barrington always called the soldier in him to the surface, even in a civilian’s coat and polished town boots. The ballroom’s laughter clung faintly to him still, a reminder that he belonged more to campaigns than assemblies.
He rapped once, brisk and efficient, and was immediately admitted by Barrington’s butler. “Good morning, Mr. Sanderson.”
“Good morning, my lord. Upstairs, sir. First door on the left.”
