“That remains one of her finer qualities,” Arthur replied as they descended the stairs. “Now then, shall we?”
At the foot of the stairs, a footman opened the front door, and the siblings stepped into the cool morning air.
The truth, of course, was more complicated. He did find Abigail interesting. Not in the way society expected—there was no infatuation, no romantic fluttering—but rather a reluctant admiration for her intelligence, her candor, her unwillingness to conform. She was, like him, a creature apart. And that made her a rare and curious presence in his world.
The carriage awaited.
Arthur helped Eliza inside first, then followed, seating himself opposite her as the door closed behind them. As the vehicle pulled away from the curb, he settled into the familiar rhythm of the journey—cobblestones beneath the wheels, the gentle sway of the carriage’s movement. He glanced once more at Eliza, who was watching him with barely concealed interest.
“You’re loving this, aren’t you?” Arthur remarked.
“I can’t help it,” she replied with a grin. “You, embarking on a courtship—even a fabricated one—is more thrilling than any novel I’ve read this year.”
“It’s a performance, Eliza. Nothing more.”
“Precisely why it’s so entertaining. You and Miss Darlington engaging in such dalliance? Society would scarcely know how to comport itself.”
Arthur said nothing, but his expression must have betrayed something, because her jesting gaze softened.
“Youlikeher,” she said more gently. “You don’t have to pretend otherwise.”
He didn’t answer. Not because she was wrong, but because he wasn’t entirely sure what ‘like’ meant in this context. He respected Abigail. Admired her composure. Trusted her to keep her word. But affection? Emotion?
That was territory he’d long since walled off.
Instead, he turned his gaze to the passing scenery—the morning bustle of London life unfolding beyond the carriage windows. Flower girls arranging blooms on street corners, delivery carts clattering down narrow lanes, the rising chatter of market stalls being set up for the day.
They arrived at the Darlington townhouse shortly after ten.
The coachman pulled the horses to a smooth stop, and Arthur descended first, turning to offer his hand to Eliza. Together, they approached the front door, their steps measured and deliberate, the picture of composed civility.
As the door was opened by the Darlington butler, Arthur inclined his head slightly. “Lord Beaumont and Miss Eliza Beaumont, calling on Miss Darlington.”
The butler bowed and stepped aside. “This way, my lord.”
They were shown into the drawing room—a gracious space furnished in tasteful creams and rosewood, with a faint scent of violets lingering in the air. The fire burned low but steady, and morning light filtered through tall windows, catching on the polished surfaces of golden metal-framed mirrors and the edges of gilded picture frames.
Harriet Darlington rose as they entered, her expression polite, though tinged with something cooler than mere formality.
“Lord Beaumont,” she said with a smile that didn’t seem entirely genuine. “And Miss Beaumont. What a pleasant surprise.”
Arthur bowed. “Lady Darlington. Thank you for receiving us. Most kind of you.”
Abigail stood near the window, her back straight, her gown a pale lavender that caught the light with every movement. She turned at the sound of his voice, her expression composed, her eyes alert. There was no hesitation in her manner, no sign of uncertainty—only the quiet calculation of someone preparing to step onto a carefully marked stage.
“Lord Beaumont,” she said warmly. “Miss Beaumont. What a pleasure.”
The words were perfectly pitched. Her smile demure but not insipid. Arthur felt, absurdly, as though they were about to enact a scene from a play—one they had rehearsed only in theory, never in practice.
Lady Harriet gestured for them to sit. “May I offer you some tea, or perhaps chocolate? Cook has prepared fresh cakes as well.”
Arthur took the nearest armchair, Eliza perching beside him. “Thank you, but I’m afraid we won’t keep you long. I’ve called to invite Miss Darlington for a carriage ride through the park. I thought, given the fine weather, it might be agreeable.”
Lady Harriet’s brows lifted ever so slightly, the gesture small but telling. She had not expected this. Not fromhim. Neither did she appear overly thrilled about the idea.
“That sounds delightful. I should be glad of the air.” Abigail replied.
Arthur stood as she approached, offering his arm. She took it without hesitation, her touch light but confident.
