“You look at her,” he said, “as though she holds the answers to questions you have not yet dared voice. It is… uncharacteristic of you.”
Marcus turned away, feigning interest in the fire.
“I am not certain what you mean,” he said coolly.
“Come now, Marcus,” Alexander said with a short laugh, moving toward the window. “I have known you too long to be deceived. You do not gaze at ledgers or manuscripts with that particular expression. Admiration, yes—but also something warmer. Surely even you must know it.”
Marcus said nothing. His friend’s words had struck too near the truth.
Outside, the clatter of a groom’s rake carried from the courtyard as a footman brushed gravel back into order. Alexander glanced down at the scene before continuing, his voice less teasing now.
“You admire her,” he said. “That much is plain to everyone with eyes. But admiration is not always enough. If you feel more, you would do well to tell her.”
Marcus turned, intending a denial, but the words stalled. Instead, he asked, low and uncertain,
“And if I have mistaken her kindness for something it is not?”
Alexander shrugged, but without flippancy.
“Then you will recover,” he said, “to the credit of that respect you bear her. But—” he looked back, one brow raised—“I should be very much surprised if you are mistaken.”
Marcus drew in a slow breath, unsettled. The notion that Catherine might return his regard both steadied and unnerved him. He had grown accustomed to solitude, to the safety of distance. Yet Catherine disarmed him at every turn—her confidence, her warmth, her quiet discernment of things unspoken.
His gaze fell again to the letter upon the desk, but his mind conjured only the memory of her hand upon his in the library, the brush of her fingers lingering far longer in his thoughts than on his skin. Could it be more than an arrangement of convenience? Could she look upon him not merely as a husband chosen for circumstance, but as a man she might come to esteem—perhaps even more?
***
The day before his scholarly guests were to arrive, Marcus sat in his study. The window beside him allowed afternoon light to highlight the table strewn with notes, reference texts, and several carefully labelled fragments of Roman pottery.
Beyond the terrace, the clipped hedges of the east garden stood in perfect order, no doubt the result of Catherine’scommanding direction. The entire household moved with a purposeful rhythm she had established with such apparent ease.
He lifted a page of his presentation draft and studied the opening paragraph for the third time. It still felt cluttered. Catherine had suggested trimming the unnecessary background from the first section and beginning directly with his thesis.
He crossed the room with pages in hand and opened the door to the smaller drawing room, where he knew she had temporarily relocated her planning efforts to allow the staff uninterrupted access to the dining room.
She stood beside a side table covered in seating charts, place cards, and a stack of linen lists. A pencilled schedule lay open beside her, its columns neatly filled with arrangements for meals, musicians, and valet services. She held a sheet of vellum in one hand and was quietly instructing a footman on rearranging the floral display.
Marcus waited until the man withdrew before speaking.
“You were right about the opening paragraph,” he said. “It reads more cleanly without the chronology.”
She turned toward him, her smile immediate but not distracting.
“It seemed to me that your argument struck more directly when not delayed by context,” she said. “May I read the revision?”
He handed her the paper. She read it with focused attention, brow slightly drawn as her fingers moved to underline one phrase with approval.
“This portion where you say ‘The domestic arrangement of rural Roman settlements offers more insight into their cultural adaptation than monumental remains’ is your strongest line,” she said.
Marcus barely suppressed a beam of pride.
“It was buried before,” he said. “I believe you have an instinct for emphasis.”
She glanced down at the rest of the paper.
“A scholar’s tendency is always to explain rather than persuade,” she said. “You are not wrong to value the context, but your audience tomorrow will include those who judge by structure as much as by substance.”
Marcus nodded emphatically.
