Catherine rose and accepted the tray with her usual grace.
“You are very thoughtful, Mrs Thornberry,” she said. “We had quite lost track of the hour.”
The housekeeper’s eyes swept over them both with a flicker of something like quickly concealed amusement.
“So I see,” she said.
Marcus stood and took his cup as Catherine poured. Their fingers did not touch this time, but the memory of the earlier moment lingered in every breath they took.
As Mrs Thornberry excused herself, Catherine turned toward the fire, though not before letting her gaze linger on Marcus for a moment longer than was necessary and giving him another soft smile.
Not for the first time, Marcus began to wonder at their union. The more time he spent with Catherine, the more comfortable he felt. Moreover, he found himself looking forward to time with her. Was it possible that, like his household, the terms of his marriage were also changing?
Chapter Eight
Rosalind stepped carefully between patches of moss and clover, lifting her skirts to avoid the damp as she followed Alexander along the shaded path behind the stables.
The morning sun filtered through branches overhead, its light cool and pale across the forest floor. She breathed in the mingled scents of earth and green growth, feeling the calm that always came when she was far from town drawing rooms.
“You must promise not to laugh,” Alexander said, glancing back at her with a smile that lacked its usual teasing glint. “But I always forget which fork leads to the old dovecote and which ends at the orchard fence.”
Rosalind tilted her head, studying the two narrow tracks as though she were an expert surveyor.
“Then it is fortunate you have engaged my guidance,” she declared with mock gravity. “For I am almost certain the left must lead to the orchard.”
His brow lifted in playful suspicion.
“Almost certain?”
She lifted one shoulder, feigning composure while his amusement made him all the more distractingly handsome.
“Moderately so,” she admitted. “But confidence, I find, is often as persuasive as accuracy.”
Alexander gave a low laugh.
“A maxim worthy of Parliament,” he said. “One might mistake you for a statesman in disguise.”
Rosalind giggled.
“Oh, spare me the notion,” she said. “I should far rather wander orchards than endure debates.”
They chose the left path, and within minutes, the orchard broke into view through a gap in the hedgerow. Rosalind cast him a sidelong glance, her voice quieter now, touched with candour.
“I have enjoyed these walks more than I anticipated,” she said.
Alexander’s expression shifted, his levity giving way to something steadier, more intent.
“As have I,” he said. “It is no small rarity to find company that does not weary me within ten minutes.”
Rosalind looked away, uncertain how to answer. She felt the warmth of his gaze linger on her, and when she glanced back, she saw something unguarded in his expression. There was no disingenuous, coquettish banter, but real interest and sincerity.
Nervous, she gave him a broad smile, as if it could hide her blushing cheeks.
“I can refrain from exhausting you for at least a full quarter of an hour,” she said.
They both laughed.
***
