Isadora looked at James out of the corner of her eye, expecting him to correct her, but he did not.
He did not say it was a practical arrangement or that the circumstances were somewhat unconventional or any of the various accurate statements that were available to him. He simply received the comment with the equanimity of a man who found nothing in it to dispute, raised his glass slightly to Lady Ashfield, and said, “You are very kind.”
Isadora felt his fingers brush the back of her hand where it rested on the table, but it lasted no longer than a breath.
She plastered a smile on her face despite the feelings warring inside her and looked at her wine glass, not daring to examine what was happening.
* * *
The guests left by nine, and the house fell back into its usual quiet.
Isadora stood near the fireplace, listening to the last carriage trundle down the drive. James was at the side table, pouring himself a small measure of brandy.
She pulled off one glove, then the other.
“That went well,” she remarked.
“Yes.”
She watched him set the decanter down. He had been very good this evening. That was the thing she kept returning to.
She did not quite know what to do with it.
“Lady Eversleigh will tell everyone in the county that we suit each other,” she said.
“Undoubtedly.”
“James.” She waited until he turned to her. “You were wonderful this evening.”
Something shifted in his expression. He looked at her with the slight wariness of a man who had been paid a compliment and was trying to determine what was inside it.
“It was necessary.”
“Of course.” She tilted her head, watching the firelight caress his face. “I only mean—” She paused, searching for the right word, or possibly the wrong one. “You were very charming. Very attentive.” She met his gaze evenly. “Very doting, in fact.”
“Appearances require?—”
“You even moved my chair,” she said over him.
He said nothing to that.
“I am only noting,” she said in the tone she used when she was noting nothing at all, “that you were very convincing. As a husband.”
“I know what I was doing.”
“I know you do.” She let it sit for a moment. “I think you are more convincing than you realize.”
She watched him receive the comment and then watched him pull back from it. The composure returning, the slight straightening, the careful reassembly of everything she had just watched come briefly undone.
He set his glass down.
“You should rest,” he said. “It has been a long evening.”
“It has,” she agreed. She did not move toward the door.
“Good night, Isadora.”
“Good night, James.”
