But Abigail’s heart was not quiet.
She had asked for this walk under the guise of enjoying the weather, but in truth, she needed the kind of counsel she could trust. And there were very few people in her life she could trust as fully as Charles Wescott.
The sound of birdsong accompanied them for several paces before Charles spoke.
“I do not wish to press you, my dearest, but I know you rather well, and you’ve hardly strung two sentences together since we met,” he said mildly. “Should I be worried?”
She smiled faintly. “I was enjoying the peace.”
“Peace and silence are rarely the same thing,” he replied, casting her a sideways glance. “Something troubles you.”
She sighed. “Is it really so obvious?”
“Only to someone who knows you,” he replied gently. “And I have had years to become an expert. I also know how much you favour your sleep and a leisurely breakfast. Judging from the shadows under your eyes and the earliness of the hour, I doubt you have enjoyed either.”
“I hadn’t realised you had become a detective, dear Charles.” She smiled, but she herself recognized that there wasn’t much warmth in it. He had unwittingly struck the very point upon which all reasoning hinged.
They turned onto a narrower path, where the hedges grew taller and the foot traffic thinner. The trees stretched overhead, forming a soft arch of pale green above them. Abigail inhaled deeply and exhaled even more slowly.
“I’ve been thinking,” she began carefully, her voice low and even, “about this whole situation with Arthur.”
Charles’s expression remained neutral, but she sensed the slight lift of his brows.
“Our arrangement,” she clarified. “Our… charade.”
“Ah,” he said. “The famed ruse. You both play your parts so utterly convincingly. I imagine you have successfully fooled everyone, and the circulating rumours would certainly suggest as much.”
“I did,” she agreed. “At first. It was easy, really. He detests the Season as much as I do. We both needed reprieve. We both wanted space from the pressures of the ton, and our mothers. I think Arthur’s is almost as bad as mine.”
She paused, gathering her thoughts.
“But something’s changed.”
Charles slowed slightly, glancing at her again. “Changed… how?”
Abigail looked down at the hem of her walking gown swaying gently with each step. “Somewhere along the way, I—I stopped pretending.”
Charles said nothing.
“I still smile for the benefit of society. I still make calculated appearances. I still tell myself it’s ‘only a performance’.” She turned her gaze to the water glinting in the distance. “But when I’m with him—truly with him—I forget it’s not real. More than that, I don’t want it to be a lie. I have become incredibly fond of him, Charles. Perhaps… I am still fooling myself. I think it might even be more than fondness.”
Charles’s voice was quiet. “And does he know?”
“I don’t know.” Her brow furrowed. “Sometimes I think he feels it too. Sometimes I catch a flicker of something in his eyes—when we speak about books or history or nothing at all—and I think… perhaps. And we have briefly alluded to the fact that it no longer feels like pretense. We have both acknowledged something more. But then he withdraws again. He keeps his distance. Like he’s afraid to let anything true take root.”
The floodgates had now opened, and she felt compelled to continue.
“I do not know when it changed,” she confessed, her voice breaking on the edge of a whisper. “I only know that it has. I find myself thinking of him when he is not near. I hear his voice when I read. I remember his touch when he guided me through a dance, and my hand still tingles hours later.”
Charles smiled, but gently. “That does not sound like pretence.”
“No,” she admitted. “It no longer feels like anything of the sort.”
“Arthur is not an easy man,” Charles murmured. “And he’s not without wounds. I saw his reaction when Sophia Carter returned. He certainly did his level best to hide his grief, but he needs to work through whatever… that is.”
“I know,” she said softly. “I see those wounds. Even when he tries to hide them. We have even talked about his past… briefly, but it feels unresolved.”
They stopped near a low stone bench beneath a tree, and Charles gestured for her to sit. She did so gratefully, folding her hands in her lap as he settled beside her.
