For a breath, neither moved. Then the silence became noticeable, and with it came the sudden awareness of where they were: a drawing room in broad daylight, the fiction of their courtship draped over every word they spoke, the rest of the house only a few steps away.
Aurelia sat back first. The moment folded itself up and disappeared, leaving in its place polite distance once more. Owen cleared his throat lightly and closed the notebook with care.
“We ought to continue cautiously,” he urged.
“Yes,” Aurelia replied.
And just like that they were formal again. When at last he rose to leave, the afternoon had lengthened toward evening. Clara reappeared as if summoned by instinct, all smiles andexpectation, and Aurelia walked with Owen to the door under her cousin’s bright supervision.
At the threshold, he paused.
“There is one further practical matter,” he leaned in to whisper.
Aurelia looked up at him.
“If we are to continue this investigation, letters may be useful. Easier than arranging meetings each time either of us learns something. And perfectly natural, under the circumstances.”
Under the circumstances.
She almost smiled at the phrase. Their entire acquaintance now existed under the circumstances.
“You mean to write to me?”
“If you permit it.”
The answer was simple enough, yet Aurelia felt a strange flutter in her chest at the thought. Letters were a different sort of conversation. They were more private and more deliberate.
“Yes,” she spoke. “I think that would be sensible.”
He inclined his head. “Then I shall do so.”
He left a moment later, descending the steps with that same controlled ease he seemed to carry everywhere, while Aurelia remained just inside the doorway, watching longer than she meant to.
Chapter 14
Owen received Aurelia’s reply to his letter the following morning.
He had only just come down to breakfast when his butler entered with a silver tray, upon which lay a single folded note. The butler’s expression remained perfectly neutral, but Owen had the fleeting and unreasonable impression that the man knew precisely from whom it had come.
“A footman from the Finch household delivered it, my lord,” the man said.
Owen felt his pulse quicken in a manner he found both foolish and faintly irritating. It was only a letter, a practical continuation of yesterday’s discussion. Nothing more.
He picked it up all the same with more care than the thing required. He didn’t expect that she would send a reply so soon. Then again, he also didn’t think he would be writing back the same evening, having the letter delivered immediately.
Aurelia’s hand was steady and elegant, her words measured at first, as if she too had intended to keep entirely to the matter at hand.
My Lord,
I am much obliged by your letter, and by the candor with which you wrote. I spent some time last evening again examining my poor father’s notebook, and I am now more persuaded than before that the name of Sergeant Carter was of particular consequence to him.
You were so open in what you said of war that I hardly know how to answer you properly, except to say that I was deeply affected by it. It has often seemed to me that the world is eager to praise those who return from such trials, yet far less willing to understand what they must have suffered. There is, I think, a cruelty even in gratitude, when it demands composure from those who have seen too much.
You asked what France has been to us, and I find it difficult to answer simply. It has been a refuge, certainly, and I shall always be thankful for the quiet we found there; yet it has never wholly felt like home. One may live somewhere many years and still remain a stranger in one’s heart.
As for my mother, I cannot regret that she stood by the truth, whatever it cost her. I am proud of her for that, and always shall be. Yet it grieves me more than I can say to see what it has made of her. She was once so much stronger in spirits. Now there is a sadness upon her that never seems quite to leave her, and if I feel pain in any part of all this, it is far less for myself than for her,and for all those in our family who have borne the consequences of what was done.
You have my gratitude for treating these matters with seriousness and kindness. I remain hopeful that, by joining what you know with what little my father left behind, we may yet arrive at something true.
