Marcus resumed his seat and cleared his throat, as well.
“Miss Talbot’s letter includes mention of her preference for quieter lodgings,” he said steadily.
Catherine took a deep breath, forcing her thoughts back to the work at hand.
“Then I believe the south rooms would suit her best,” she said. “They overlook the herb garden and stand apart from the guest wing. She will find them peaceful.”
He nodded and made a notation.
Catherine tucked a loose curl behind her ear as she reviewed another name on the list. The motion, automatic and unthinking, caught Marcus’s attention entirely, and he looked up from his notes. She did not see his expression, but she felt the shift in the room again. He looked at her not with affection, but with interest.
She lifted her eyes.
“Shall we discuss the menu for the reception?” she asked.
He blinked and set down his pen.
“Yes,” he said. “I believe Mrs Thornberry suggested a buffet arrangement for the opening evening. It would allow guests to converse more freely.”
Catherine nodded, scribbling notes on her own paper.
“And it spares the staff from another formal supper,” she said. “We must consider the demands this week will place on them.”
Marcus gave her another approving nod.
“You think with admirable practicality. I value that. I have managed these affairs alone before, but with your assistance, I begin to see what I missed.”
The compliment, though simply given, struck her. It was not praise for appearance or manner, but for the clarity of her judgment.
She allowed herself a small smile.
“I have long been an observer,” she said. “Even without a position of consequence, one learns what is required to make a household run.”
Marcus studied her for a moment before answering.
“You see more than logistics,” he said. “You understand how people function within them. That distinction matters.”
They returned to their work, but a new comfort had grown between them.
Catherine suggested preparing a small written itinerary for each guest, and Marcus approved it at once. When they turned to the matter of seating for the lecture evening, he listened closelyas she observed which scholars were likely to clash and which might, with careful placement, be drawn into fruitful discussion. Her judgments were not only accurate but remarkably shrewd.
Marcus began to see that her talents reached far beyond the ordering of meals or the care of household linen. She possessed the rarer gift of anticipating the turn of unspoken expectations. He watched her as she arranged the cards, her manner thoughtful and efficient. He had married her expecting competence. What he now discovered was a woman of substance, intellect, and intuition.
She glanced toward the window, and all at once, he realised they had passed the whole morning in what felt like mere minutes.
“The sun is rising higher,” she said. “Should we take a walk before lunch? The weather will not remain fine all afternoon.”
He rose from his chair.
“That is an excellent suggestion,” he said.
Catherine gathered the papers into a tidy stack, placing them back into their folder.
As they left the study side by side, Marcus opened the door for her without ceremony, yet the movement bore a quiet civility that had started becoming natural between them. If respect could form of its own volition between the pair, could they possibly learn to become friends?
***
That afternoon, Marcus waited just outside the library entrance, where the westward sun, diffused through Penwood’s tall windows, cast a long wash of light across the corridor. When Catherine approached, dressed simply yet with unstudied elegance, he offered her his arm.
