“I had thought that such language had to belong to someone who was at least fifty years old.”
His mouth altered very slightly. It was not quite a smile, but something near it. “Then I am relieved to have escaped with less damage than I deserved.”
“I cannot say yet whether you have escaped at all.”
“That sounds ominous.”
“It was intended to.”
His eyes rested on her with greater attention now, and Aurelia was suddenly conscious that she had answered more quickly than was perhaps prudent. Yet she did not regret it. If he chose to speak as though the room were full of children, he might bear a little correction.
He glanced again toward the dancers. “I only meant that they seem extraordinarily happy.”
“They do,” she echoed.
“Do you disapprove?”
“Oh, no. I only disapprove of broad declarations that suggest the rest of us are already pensioned off from youth.”
This time he smiled properly, and the effect of it was surprisingly disarming. Something deep and at the same time, absurd, rumbled beneath her ribs.
“Then I must apologize. I had not intended to include you among the pensioners.”
“Very civil of you,” she returned, endeavoring not to focus on how handsome he was when he was smiling.
“I can be civil on occasion.”
“Something tells me that must astonish everyone acquainted with you.”
He bowed his head slightly, as if accepting a challenge. “And yet I persist in trying.”
For the first time since he had spoken, Aurelia allowed herself to meet his eyes directly. They gave her the uncomfortable sense that he saw more than most people did, which in London was not always an advantage.
Still, his manner was easy, and there was none of the oily familiarity she had learned to distrust. He looked again at Clara and Captain Harrow.
“They appear well matched for one dance at least.”
“Yes,” said Aurelia, following his gaze. “Though my cousin has known him scarcely fifteen minutes, so I reserve the right to remain cautious.”
“Ah. You are the guardian of her happiness.”
“I am only her chaperone.”
“That is much the same thing in a ballroom.”
She could not disagree. Clara was laughing at something Captain Harrow had just said, and the sound carried even above the music. Aurelia’s lips softened in spite of herself.
“She is very young,” Aurelia spoke softly. “And inclined to think well of everyone.”
“A happy tendency,” he pointed out.
“A dangerous one,” she corrected him.
“Surely not always.”
She turned slightly toward him. “You speak like a man who still believes such innocence goes unpunished.”
Something in his expression shifted. Not enough for most people to notice, perhaps, but Aurelia did. The ease remained, yet there was a shadow beneath it now.
