At Miss Blackmore’s name, his expression changed so openly that Owen was spared reply. Thomas looked down at the table, turning his glass a little between his fingers.
“How is Miss Blackmore?” Owen asked.
“Radiant,” Thomas answered, and then laughed at himself. “Good God, listen to me. A month ago I would have mocked any man who answered so.”
“A month ago you mocked most men regardless of their answers.”
“True. It was a simpler life.”
Owen leaned back. “You are serious, then.”
Thomas’s humor softened into something far less practiced. “Yes. More than I expected to be. More than is convenient, perhaps, though I cannot bring myself to regret it.”
“Does Miss Blackmore know?”
“I should think half of London knows, if half of London has eyes. Clara certainly does not discourage me.” He smiled, and it was unlike his usual smile, quieter and almost boyish.
“It was the first ball of the season, Owen. The very first. I had gone because you were going, and because Lady Westbridge terrifies even braver men than I. Then there she was, delighted by everything, as if the whole room had been lit for her particularpleasure. I thought her charming. Then, I thought her kind. And then, I thought I was in very grave danger.”
Owen watched him with affection he did not trouble to conceal. “And now?”
“Now I think no weight would feel quite so heavy if she were near enough to laugh at it. She has a way of making life appear less like a campaign to be endured and more like something one might enter gladly.”
Owen opened his mouth to congratulate him and did so with sincerity.
“I am glad for you, Thomas.”
“Thank you.”
“You deserve that kind of happiness.”
Thomas’s smile warmed. “So do you.”
Owen looked away too quickly. It was a mistake.
Thomas pounced upon it, though gently. “Ah.”
“There is no ah.”
“There is very much an ah. It stood between us like a third gentleman.”
Owen cleared his throat. “I was speaking of you and Miss Blackmore.”
Thomas grinned. “And thinking of yourself and Miss Finch.”
Owen’s hand stilled around his glass. “Do not make more of the matter than it is.”
“I do not think I could make more of it than your face just did.”
Owen gave him a warning look, but Thomas only grew kinder, which was worse.
“No one could blame you for becoming attached to a woman of intelligence, courage, and more honesty than the rest of London combined.”
Owen hesitated. “She is not in a position to receive such attachment.”
“Has she told you so?”
“She need not. Our arrangement was made for protection and inquiry, not for … ” He stopped.
