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“Thank you for having us.”

“I have enjoyed it.” The Dowager Duchess patted her arm once.

There was enough warmth in the answer that Lydia wished she could accept it without wondering what else the Dowager Duchess hoped another visit would accomplish. Her mother joined them, carrying the reticule she had spent the morning looking for, with Edmund behind her; Henry was already outside speaking to the coachman. Tristan appeared at the end of the hall.

Seeing him there made the hall feel smaller. Their departure had been arranged down to cushions, trunks, baskets, and watering instructions, and nothing had been arranged between them. A friendship did not require a scene at the door. Still, she wanted some private sign inside the public farewell, something that belonged to the library or the orchard or the greenhouse and to no one watching.

Lydia straightened before she could decide whether she wanted him to notice. He greeted her mother and asked whether everything had been brought down. Then his attention settled on the basket. “Samuel found a suitable pot.”

“Yes. Thank you.”

“The instructions are his. I should not trust mine.”

“I shall write to him if it flourishes.”

“He would appreciate that.” He said nothing about himself.

She looked up. His expression held only the courteous interest he had distributed to every departing guest, and she resented him for being able to wear it.

“I have returned your book.”

“You might have kept it longer.”

“I copied the pages I needed.” He looked at the basket.

“Of course.” The phrase closed over whatever else he might have said.

Her father approached, ending the pause between them. There were thanks to be exchanged, invitations offered, and a question about the road. Tristan answered readily. At last they moved toward the doors. Mrs. Bell stood beside the staircase. “Your brother has asked for another cushion, my lady.”

Lydia glanced outside, where Henry was accepting the cushion from a footman with the air of a man whose preparations had been vindicated. She smiled at Mrs. Bell and went to the steps, Tristan walking beside her. She had expected his arm. He waited while she found the rail and descended at her own pace. She had insisted she could manage, and he was respecting it. The disappointment was unreasonable, which did nothing to lessen it.

At the carriage, Henry took the basket. “I shall guard it with my life.”

“Upright will do.” Lydia bit the inside of her cheek.

“I accept the lesser responsibility.”

He handed it inside, then helped her up. Lydia settled opposite her mother with the cushion beneath her foot. Her father followed. Edmund and Henry would travel in the other carriage with the remaining luggage. Through the doorway, she could see Tristan speaking to Henry. Then he turned to her. “A safe journey, Lady Lydia.”

“Thank you, Your Grace.”

She waited one foolish beat for him to make leaving more difficult. He stepped back so the footman could close the door.

Tristan remained beside his mother until the carriage began to move. Henry raised a hand from the second carriage. Tristan returned the gesture, then turned toward the house. At the foot of the steps, he turned. “Are you coming in, Mama?”

“In a moment.”

He did not wait. The hall was quieter already. The lilies had gone from the table beneath the stairs, leaving a pale ring of dried water and one bruised petal no one had collected. Whitmore approached with a folded account.

“Later,” Tristan said.

He regretted the abruptness and stopped. “Leave it on my desk. I shall attend to it this morning.”

“Very good, Your Grace.”

Upstairs, his study window stood open. He went to close it and stopped with his hand on the frame. The Pembrokes’ carriage had reached the curve. Between the trees he saw a blue sleeve at the window, then only the dark body of the carriage and the luggage behind it. He watched until even the dust had settled.

On his desk lay the botanical volume. Someone had placed Lydia’s wrapping paper beside it. He had told himself all morning that the house would be easier when it was quiet again. The quiet had arrived, and it was not ease he felt. Tristan closed the window.