“If words are what will make matters worse, then silence may be the only mercy left to me.”
Alexander let out a slow breath.
“Better to speak, even clumsily, than to hold your tongue and be misunderstood. Silence persuades no one.”
Marcus looked as if he might argue, but instead fell quiet. Alexander watched his expression shift—from guarded, to contemplative, to something softer, almost wistful. Whatever the truth of it, he hoped his friend would go to Catherine.
***
Catherine moved through the morning’s tasks with practised efficiency, ensuring the smooth progress of each scholarly session. Her hands arranged papers, her voice calmly directed servants, and her mind catalogued every detail of the day’s proceedings. Still, beneath her composed exterior, a turmoil churned that she could not dismiss.
She noted how Marcus kept a distance, his usual warmth replaced by something cautious and restrained. The gentle touch she had welcomed the night before was nowhere to be found now. Instead, he seemed to retreat behind a veil of propriety, as if the closeness they had shared had become an error he wished to erase. Catherine’s heart ached with the fear that her own openness had frightened him.
She wondered if she had been too forward, if a proper lady should never have yielded to such impulsive feelings.
Her reticence grew not from lack of desire but from the dread of losing the fragile trust between them. Every time Marcus’s eyes avoided hers, it felt like a silent confirmation thatshe had misread the depth of their bond. Yet she resolved to carry on, concealing her longing beneath a mask of duty, hoping that the day’s work might restore the ease that now seemed so distant.
The morning light filtered softly through the library windows as Catherine moved among the papers and artefacts with practised ease. Marcus sat nearby, reviewing his notes with the same careful attention he gave every detail of their gathering. Though they shared the room, the space between them felt wider than ever.
“Harold lingered by the eastern cabinet longer than usual this morning,” Catherine said quietly, arranging a set of fragile fragments on the table.
Marcus glanced up briefly, eyes sharp with concern.
“I noticed,” he said. “His manner grows more unsettled. We must watch him closely.”
She nodded, but her thoughts drifted to the careful distance he maintained, the way their shared glances had grown rare—guarded.
I wonder if he thinks me cold or unyielding. Does he regret the closeness we let bloom?
Marcus’s voice drew her back.
“Have you completed the revised cataloguing for the Roman coins?” he asked. “The last batch must be ready before the afternoon session.”
Catherine cleared her throat and nodded.
“Yes,” she said, masking the flutter of unease. “I cross-referenced each with provenance notes and condition reports. Everything is accounted for.”
He offered a curt nod, returning to his papers. The silence stretched, filled only by the scratch of his quill and the muted creak of the leather chair. Catherine shifted her gaze toward the door where Edmund spoke in low tones to Eleanor.
“Edmund seemed troubled after his talk with Harold,” Marcus said without looking up. “His observations carry weight.”
Catherine nodded again, looking at Edmund.
“His work on forgery detection has been useful,” she said carefully. “I hope he continues to keep a clear head.” Yet inwardly she wondered whether they would all have the strength to maintain composure when the moment to act arrived.
Marcus closed his notebook with a soft snap.
“If we are to succeed, we must do the same,” he said. “The Society depends upon our careful stewardship. We cannot afford distraction.”
Her pulse quickened despite the calm of his tone. “Agreed.” She busied herself adjusting documents and felt the heat of his gaze before he turned away.
It stung—sharper than she had expected—but she knew he was right. Whatever had passed between them must wait until Harold was dealt with. One lapse in judgment could undo everything they were helping Edmund work toward.
Throughout the morning, they moved in quiet tandem. Marcus presented a point, Catherine supplied the detail; their words flowed seamlessly, but their hearts held back. No mention was made of the distance opening between them, yet she felt it keenly, like a shadow stealing across a sunlit room.
By afternoon, she found him alone, inspecting the cases. She studied the faint lines of weariness at his temples, the taut set of his jaw as though he wrestled invisible burdens.
Her thoughts swirled.Does he feel this same uncertainty?she wondered.Or does he believe I have shut myself against what might have been?
