“Yes.”
He forced himself to be honest. “I feared you might wish to end the investigation. I feared also that you might wish to end our acquaintance.”
Her steps slowed. He slowed with her. Clara, thankfully, had found another window to examine. Aurelia did not speak. The faint wind stirred the ribbons of her bonnet against her cheek.Owen looked down the quiet street rather than at her, because if he watched her too closely, he might lose the discipline required to say only what he had a right to say.
“The first fear I could understand,” he continued. “The second troubled me more than I expected.”
There … it was said. It was not everything, not nearly everything, but enough that his heart beat harder in the silence following it.
Aurelia turned her face toward him.
“My lord—”
“Owen,” he said before caution could stop him.
The word stood between them. He had signed it. That had been easier. Ink allowed bravery to appear almost accidental. Spoken aloud, it was different. It asked to be either accepted or refused.
Aurelia’s eyes widened the smallest degree.
Then, very softly, she whispered back. “Owen.”
The street did not alter. No window flew open, no passer-by stopped, no carriage halted to observe the imprudence of a Christian name spoken beneath a pale morning sky. Yet toOwen, something shifted so entirely that the ordinary world seemed to have moved half an inch out of its former place.
He drew a breath.
“I do not ask you to continue for my sake, nor do I ask you to bear danger because I have grown accustomed to your confidence. If you decide we must stop, we will stop. If you decide our association does Clara more harm than good, I will not argue you out of protecting her.”
Aurelia’s expression closed a little at that, as though the very offer hurt her.
“But,” he continued, “I do not believe silence will protect her forever. Charlotte has already begun. Langley has already shown his hand. Whether we search or not, they know your return threatens them. If we withdraw now, they may only learn that pressure succeeds.”
“That is what I fear,” she confessed. “And yet … We brought Clara into all of this. She believed the season would be all music and admiration and pleasant dances. Yesterday, she learned that my name can wound her. How am I to ask her to bear that?”
“You need not ask her to bear it alone.”
“She should not have to bear it at all.”
“No.”
The answer seemed to disarm her more than argument would have done. Owen wished to take her hand. The wish came so strongly that he had to clasp his own behind his back.
“Aurelia,” he said, then paused, still struck by the liberty of it. “We shall find a way forward that does not sacrifice Clara to the truth, nor the truth to fear.”
She gave a small, sad smile. “That sounds very noble. I am not certain it is possible.”
“Most worthwhile things sound improbable before they are attempted.”
“And if we fail?”
“Then we will fail having tried not to injure those who trust us.”
Her gaze rested on him. He had the sense, not that he had persuaded her, but that he had given her permission not to decide in despair. Perhaps that was all that could be done that morning.
“I cannot lose her happiness,” she said quietly. “And I do not wish …”
She stopped. He waited.
“I do not wish to abandon what my father began.”
