He did know. He knew it with a precision that was in itself an answer to the question William had asked four minutes ago, and they both knew it, and neither of them said so.
“The dinner went well,” he said as a diversion.
“I heard.”
“Lady Ashfield?—”
“I heard that too.” William picked up his glass. “James.”
“I know,” James exhaled. “I know.”
William held his gaze for a long moment. Then he released a breath, sat back, and looked at the fire, saying nothing.
* * *
Violet had been settled into the basket by the fire, one small fist curled near her cheek, and Mrs. Plum had been dispatched to find Eleanor and Thomas something that would keep them occupied and, ideally, silent.
The result was a drawing room that contained, for the first time in two hours, only the three of them.
“Tell me about James,” Cecily demanded, the moment Mrs. Plum had gone and the door had clicked shut behind her.
“There is nothing to tell.”
“There is clearly something to tell. You’ve gone a particular shade of pink.” Letitia tucked her feet beneath her on the settee.
“It’s warm in here.”
“It is not warm in here.” Letitia looked at Cecily. “Is it warm in here?”
“Not especially,” Cecily replied, watching Isadora over her cup.
Isadora looked at the fire instead of either of them.
“Are you happy, Izzy?” Cecily asked, her voice gentle.
A lump suddenly formed in Isadora’s throat. She swallowed and forced a smile. “Yes.”
Isadora glanced at Violet, asleep in her basket, one fist curled by her cheek, entirely indifferent to the conversation being conducted above her.
“I’m happier than I expected to be,” she admitted. “I did not think I would enjoy any of it. The household—all of it. I thought I would manage it, the way one manages an obligation.” She nodded toward the basket. “I like looking after her more than I thought I would. I did not think I’d be any good at it.”
“You’re wonderful at it.”
That coaxed a small smile from her, which Letitia seemed to take as encouragement, because she pressed on before Isadora had a chance to redirect the conversation.
“And James?”
Isadora hesitated.
“I enjoy his company,” she said finally. “Despite myself.”
“Despite yourself,” Letitia repeated, looking delighted.
“It was not meant to be a confession.”
“It was anexcellentconfession. I’m only sorry Cecily did not have anything to wager on it. She’d have won.”
Isadora set down her cup. “It’s foolish,” she said, half to herself.
