He nodded and let that be enough.
They reached her aunt’s house. The small front garden sat in neat order, the privet hedge clipped the week before, and smelled green and clean. Peters opened the door before the knocker fell, with the air of making a door welcome rather than merely admitting them.
“My lady. Lord Ashcombe.” His tone placed Leticia as one of the household, and Gabriel as expected. “Her ladyship has not yet returned. The garden is very pleasant. Shall I have tea laid in the morning room for when you come in?”
“Please,” Leticia said.
They walked through to the back. The stone path warmed the soles of their shoes. Roses climbed the south wall with more ambition than discipline. The lavender held bees in honest work. Someone had left a cushion on the bench under the pear tree to catch the sun.
They took the path once without speaking. Gabriel stopped and faced her. “May I ask you something?”
“You may,” she said.
“When you look at me, what do you see?”
She held his gaze. It was not an indulgence to answer properly. It was a responsibility. “I see a man who notices more than he says. I see steadiness that does not need to be admired. I see a mind that waits for all the pieces and still chooses when the picture is not yet complete. I see someone who is careful with other people’s hearts.” She drew a breath. “I see the man who stood between me and the edge of a cliff without making a speech of it.”
He didn’t answer at once. His gaze held hers until the air between them was taut. He stepped closer, his hand warm along her jaw, steadying her as if the ground itself might shift. She rose to meet him, the first brush of his mouth deliberate, not a question but a claim, deepening until the ache in her chest eased and something fiercer tookits place. The kiss settled where it landed, easing something that had been tight for too long. When they parted, she kept his hand a moment longer than necessity asked, knowing the world was still the same, though she would never see it that way again.
“That was… good,” she whispered, because anything more would have been too much.
“Yes,” he said, which was as much as he needed to say.
The garden door creaked. A maid stood with her hands folded. “My lady. Her ladyship has returned.”
“Thank you,” Leticia said.
They went inside. The morning room was ready with tea. Lady Eastbury stood by the table with the air of a commander reviewing provisions. A paper-wrapped parcel rested beside the cups like a trophy.
“Two seedcakes,” she said. “We will not be found wanting.”
“You prevail where others falter,” Gabriel said.
“Competence frightens the idle,” Lady Eastbury replied, pleased. She seated herself and reached for the pot. “Tell me the plan. I am prepared to approve it if it suits me.”
“We called at Barrington’s,” Leticia said. “Kenworth will tell him to come here tomorrow at nine.”
“Very good. Nine gives you an hour and does not encourage dawdling.” She poured, added, “I must send to Turnbull and Sons for a cleaner. I want my jewels ready for the soiree. You may as well take any of yours that need attention.”
Leticia’s mind went at once to her mother’s brooch. “I will,” she said. “It could use a fresh polish.”
They spoke of small things while they ate a thin slice of cake. The crumb was warm and delicious. Lady Eastbury had found the words for it years ago. Cake should taste like comfort, not apology. This did. She asked after Mrs. Bainbridge and nodded, pleased to hear they had been out together and were at ease. She mentioned a note from thevicar about the chapel and looked as if she had strong opinions about the placement of runners.
“I am out for a short call,” she said when the tray was cleared. “Mrs. Denholm’s maid is unwell. I promised broth. I will return before four. If Peters tries to enlist either of you in the question of the pantry shelves, refuse him. He has decided that gentlemen have views about vinegar.”
“I shall be firm,” Leticia said.
Lady Eastbury touched her cheek, and Gabriel’s hand as well. “You both look well,” she said. It was a benediction offered as a remark. She was gone with the brisk step of a woman who kept promises by habit.
The house settled. The quiet that followed was not the quiet of emptiness, but of trust.
They returned to the morning room window. From there, the garden looked contained and well behaved. It was different to walk inside it and feel the work of bees and the drift of leaves. Leticia rested her palm against the wood, the paint smooth under her fingers.
“Barrington at nine,” Gabriel said.
“Yes.”
They sat a little longer. He told her a short story about Kenworth and a deliveryman that ended with three crates bowing to a set of steps. She laughed, and the knot in her middle loosened. He made things bearable without pretending they were easy.
