Edward glanced at it pointedly, much to Thomas’ irritation. Then he glanced at his own glass, drained the remainder with commendable efficiency, and rose to his feet.
“I've just remembered,” he stated, patting his coat pockets purposely, “An appointment. Very pressing. I cannot overstate –”
“Edward,” Thomas cut him off, intending to tell his friend to take his leave already.
“You don't need to thank me,” Edward disclaimed, already slipping his gloves on. “It was no trouble at all.”
He ignored the flabbergasted look on Thomas’ face, instead bowing to Jane with genuine warmth.
“Duchess. Truly, it has been a very great pleasure. You are every bit what he needed and he is too thick-headed to see it, but I have every confidence that will resolve itself.”
He shifted his attention to Thomas, affection, amusement and a kind of quiet insistence etched to the smile he gave his friend. “Thank you for having me. Enjoy the rest of your afternoon.”
And he was gone, as suddenly as he had arrived, leaving Thomas was still aware of his hand at his wife’s waist.
The room felt different without Edward's noise in it.
Jane was aware of Thomas' hand at her waist, his warm touch eating away at her awareness of much else besides the weight of his grip She had told herself not to give in to these sorts of things and knew the best thing for her to do would be to put some distance between them as soon as possible. Yet, even after a few minutes, she made no move to do so.
“He left very quickly,” she noted.
“He did,” Thomas agreed with a sigh of relief. “Good riddance. He can be quite the handful sometimes.”
“Were you glaring at him?” Jane wondered out loud, looking up at him.
Thomas paused, then he admitted curtly. “Occasionally.”
She turned to face him fully, which meant turning toward the hand at her waist, invertedly drawing even closer to him than necessary, but she paid it not mind, pined by his dark eyes.
“I find that hard to believe, given your reactions that I noticed during our conversation. You kept glaring at him. Every time he made me laugh.”
She peered closer to his face, keeping a close eye on his expressions. “Are you actually friends?”
“We are.” A brief moment of silence passed before Thomas cleared his throat and stated. “He is my closest friend.”
“And yet, I find that somewhat hard to believe.”
Thomas looked at her for a moment, then away, only for his gaze to drift back to her hesitantly, as though he had struggled to make up his mind to speak of that which he wanted to say.
“I was jealous,” he admitted eventually.
His words hovered above them, plain and simple and Jane felt warmth move through her chest that had no business being there.
“Jealous,” she repeated.
“Yes.”
“Why?”
The question came out delicately, almost embellished with worry. Thomas sighed and Jane wondered if he would finally stop being so forth coming.
“I did not like how easily he made you comfortable.” His jaw was tight. “I grew a tad envious watching you laugh at things he said. I do not blame you for enjoying his company. He is a remarkable man – to the extent that I could not deny it, even if I wished to. He is earnest, much more sociable... less marred by life. I, too, value the time he spends in my presence – when he is not being a nuisance.”
Jane knew she should not feel pleased by this, but she should not help the pleasure that curled within her chest.
“I noticed you were quiet while we spoke. Was that what you were thinking about? The while time?” she asked softly.
Thomas shook his head. “Not entirely.”
