Lady Hammett’s cheeks colored.
“I meant no offense.”
“Of course you did not,” Mrs. Dove-Lyon said pleasantly. “You simply meant interest.”
Marcus saw Lila’s breath ease, only slightly, as though she had been holding it.
Lady Hammett’s gaze darted to Marcus, searching for leverage. For alliance.
Marcus gave her none.
Henry shifted closer to Marcus’s side. Not hiding. Choosing.
Marcus placed his hand lightly on Henry’s shoulder. Steady. Present.
Mrs. Dove-Lyon smiled. It did not reach her eyes.
“There,” she said. “Tea. Now.”
Lady Hammett’s fan snapped open again, a little too hard. “Very well. If you insist.”
“I do,” Mrs. Dove-Lyon replied.
Lady Hammett allowed herself to be guided out, still talking as if talking could undo the fact that she had been corrected.
When the door shut, the music room felt as though it could breathe again.
Henry looked up at Marcus, eyes wide.
“Is she angry?” he whispered.
“No,” Marcus said. “She is simply loud.”
Henry nodded as if that explained everything.
Lila’s hands were folded tightly in front of her. She did not look shaken. She looked controlled, which was not the same thing.
Marcus kept his voice low. “Are you all right?”
She lifted her eyes to him, steady as ever. “Yes.”
It was the answer she gave because it cost her the least.
Marcus heard the lie in it. Or perhaps he only heard the effort.
“Come,” he said to Henry. “We should walk home before the streets grow busy.”
Henry nodded quickly.
Marcus turned back to Lila.
She met his gaze. Composed. Beneath it, a small, fragile uncertainty she likely believed she was hiding.
“Until tomorrow,” he said.
“Until tomorrow,” she replied.
He left with Henry.
