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“The library in particular.”
“A sound choice. I have spent several happy hours there avoiding less agreeable occupations.”
The Dowager Duchess regarded him. “You and my son both.”
“Though I would not include dancing among them,” he added, turning to Lydia. “May I?”
She hesitated only long enough to remember her feet. Then she accepted his hand. Dunhaven had done nothing to deserve being refused on his friend’s account. As they took their places, Dunhaven glanced toward the open windows. “It grows warm.”
“I was thinking the same.”
“Tristan will be horrified to discover that even his meticulous preparations cannot account for everything.”
Lydia smiled. “Does he dislike surprises?”
“Intensely. Particularly those that cannot be resolved with a few instructions to his staff.”
“Then I imagine tonight has been rather trying for him.”
“Oh, I suspect that the evening has provided him with more than one unexpected difficulty.”
She glanced at Dunhaven, wondering whether he knew something of the Dowager Duchess’s plans, but his expression remained perfectly innocent.
He asked about her brothers, then told her that having sisters had taught him never to assume a woman was ready to leave because she had put on her gloves.
“Sometimes that means she is considering it,” Lydia said.
“And sometimes?”
“That she is cold.”
“Women are far more intricate creatures than men give them credit for.”
She laughed. She found she was enjoying his company, he was easy to speak to.
Beyond the open windows the terrace lamps had been lit, and moths beat against the glass. Now and then a draft off the lawn bent the flames along the walls and set the mirrors trembling.
When he asked about the library, she told him of the botanical volume and its disputed illustration.
“Have you settled which was correct?”
“Not yet.”
“Then there is still reason to stay.”
“I had not thought to arrange my visit around it.”
“An unresolved question can be very persuasive.”
Dunhaven spoke with an interest that came naturally to him, and Lydia could imagine him continuing the discussion over a book without growing impatient when the answer proved complicated. She was beginning to enjoy herself again. Then she felt herself being watched and found Tristan beyond Dunhaven’s shoulder, looking directly at her with none of the easy charm he’d shown earlier left on his face.
The look held no invitation, but it had weight. Across the moving bodies and candlelight, Tristan had lost the sociable expression he had worn all evening. Lydia felt the change before she understood it. Her next step came a fraction late. Dunhaven corrected without comment, and his small kindness made Tristan’s stare feel even less reasonable.
She missed the next remark. “I beg your pardon?”
“I asked whether the notes were signed.”
“No. At least, I have not found a name.”
