“Of course not,” Harrow agreed easily. “Merely … conserving your energy.”
Owen gave him a look, but it only made Harrow’s smile deepen.
“It is a very strategic approach. I commend it.”
“You would.”
“I do. Though I cannot help but think you might find the world rather less tedious if you allowed yourself to participate in it, old boy.”
Owen leaned back slightly in his chair. “I have participated.”
“Yes,” Harrow said. “In war.”
“And you think this comparable?”
“No,” Harrow replied, after a moment. “I do not. But that does not make it unimportant.”
Owen said nothing.
He understood the argument. He did. The world did not pause because one had seen more of it than others. Life continued in drawing rooms and ballrooms, in idle conversations and trivial concerns. But knowing it did not make it easier to accept.
“There is a ball,” his mother said, as though concluding the matter.
Owen closed his eyes briefly. “There is always a ball.”
“Yes,” she replied. “And this one you will attend.”
He looked at her.
“I have already accepted on your behalf.”
Harrow let out a quiet breath that might have been a suppressed laugh.
“Ah, Westbridge,” he said, with mock solemnity, “it appears your campaign has been decided for you.”
Owen shot him a look that might have served on any battlefield, but Harrow only met it with quiet amusement, entirely unrepentant.
He turned, instead, to his mother. “You cannot expect me to—”
“I expect nothing unreasonable,” she interrupted smoothly. “Only that you behave as becomes your station.”
Owen’s jaw tightened. He glanced once more toward Harrow, seeking if not support, then at least some resistance. But Harrow, traitorously, inclined his head.
“Your mother is not entirely wrong. One cannot live one’s life looking always elsewhere, however tempting the alternative may be.”
Owen stared at him. “You, of all people—”
“Am precisely the person to say it,” Harrow returned. “We have both seen enough of the world to know that it does not stop turning simply because we have stepped away from it.”
Owen said nothing.
His mother folded her hands neatly before her, as though the matter were already settled.
“We have received an invitation,” she said. “The first proper ball of the season.”
Owen closed his eyes briefly. “Of course you have.”
“It will be well attended. A great many eligible families will be present.”
