“Precisely why I rely upon your judgment,” he said. “You bring clarity to what I too often obscure.”
She looked pleased, though not vain.
“Then let us call it a fair exchange,” she replied. “For you have taught me to read objects rather than merely to catalogue them.”
Marcus watched as she returned to her materials, sorting the place cards into smaller sets. Her movements were unhurried, efficient, and entirely her own. She did not ask permission to lead, and no one in the household questioned her right to direct.
“Do you require my approval for any of these final decisions?” he asked.
She glanced up.
“Only for the library supper on the second evening,” she said. “Some of your colleagues may prefer conversation in a more informal setting. I thought it might allow for deeper discussion without the pressure of public formality.”
Marcus nodded slowly.
“That was my hope as well, though I had not thought how to achieve it,” he said. “Yes. Arrange it as you see fit.”
She gave him another heart-fluttering smile.
“Then everything is in order,” she said. “The staff knows the schedule. All meals are confirmed. The rooms are prepared.”
He crossed to her side and looked over the seating chart.
“I am told this level of calm on the eve of such an event is not typical,” he said softly.
She looked over at him, her tone gently teasing.
“I am told you are not a typical earl,” she said.
Their eyes met with sudden intensity. He marked the gentle curve of her cheek, the quiet assurance that had grown so habitual she no longer appeared aware of it.
She has become indispensable,he thought.To my work, to this household—even to my peace of mind.
He returned to the table, suddenly anxious in that moment, and picked up one of the artefact labels.
“You placed this one beside the Samian ware bowl,” he asked. “May I ask why?”
Catherine tilted her head, glancing from him to the artefact.
“Because the ridge of the fragment matches the curvature precisely,” she said. “I compared them earlier. The glaze also suggests the same source.”
He looked again and saw she was correct.
“You truly catch what my eye passes over,” he said.
She said nothing but gave a small nod, returning to her list.
Marcus watched her for another moment before turning back to his own work, the papers in his hands somehow lighter now.
Tomorrow, they would open Penwood to men who had published widely and judged harshly. And yet, with Catherine beside him, Marcus felt more prepared than he ever had alone.
***
The dining room felt larger than usual as it awaited the arrival of their guests, though the smaller table set for two, with fresh linen and a silver candelabrum, created a sense of intimacy rather than vacancy.
Marcus stood as Catherine entered, his gaze steady, his expression unreadable, though she had come to recognise that stillness as a kind of regard. She took her seat opposite him, her posture correct but not stiff, hands folded lightly in her lap as the footman poured wine and withdrew.
Once they were alone, Marcus looked at her with muted pride.
