She wasn't comfortable with anything about this arrangement. But she was practical.
"It is fine by me…Sebastian," she said.
He turned to her, and this time she saw the left side of his jaw clench, the scar tissue shifting with the movement. She had the sudden, disorienting thought that she'd hurt him. Which was absurd. She'd only said his name.
"Estella," he returned. His voice was rough and lower than before. More of a growl, really.
The duchess watched them both with bright, sharp eyes and an expression that Estella couldn't read but that made her distinctly uneasy.
"Well then," the duchess said. "Tomorrow at three o'clock. I'll send my carriage."
Blackwood— No, Sebastian, inclined his head.
"I should go," he said to no one in particular, and then did exactly that, crossing the room with long strides.
The door closed behind him, and the room felt larger. Emptier.
The duchess poured herself another cup of tea, seemingly unbothered by the departure. "Well. That went better than I'd anticipated."
"Did it?" Estella wasn't certain what she'd anticipated, but she felt rather as though she'd been caught in a storm and was still checking herself for damage.
The duchess smiled but did not elaborate. "There's something else I wished to discuss with you, privately."
Estella straightened. "Yes?"
"You were very taken with Mr. Fairchild last evening."
The observation was mild, but Estella still flinched at the rebuke. "He was kind to me." She hated how defensive she sounded. "He was the only person who?—"
"Yes. He was kind, I’m sure. He was charming and attentive and all that." The duchess gave a dismissive wave as she set her cup down. "I want you to think about why that should worry you rather than reassure you."
Estella's brow furrowed. "I don't understand."
The duchess folded her hands. "Miss Hale, you are a perceptive woman. I saw it last night. The way you watch people, the way you read a room. You notice things others miss. But you have a blind spot, and it's a dangerous one."
She had many, probably. But she waited.
"You trust the men who put you at ease." The duchess's voice was steady and unsparing. "Those men are comfortable because they've practiced being comfortable. They know exactly what a lonely young woman needs to hear, and they're very good at providing it."
Estella opened her mouth to protest. Mr. Fairchild had been genuinely kind, she was sure of it. Well…almost sure of it.
"I’m not saying that every man who’s quick to smile is a cad," the duchess continued. "Only that the ones who make it easy are worth examining more closely."
Estella turned that over in her mind. Was that true? She’d never truly thought about it before.
The duchess gave another wave in the direction where Blackwood had been standing earlier. "The men who are brusque or uncomfortable or who seem incapable of basic pleasantries…" A slight pause. "Those men are rarely the ones you need to fear."
She meant Blackwood. Obviously.
Estella frowned. But the duchess hurried on before she could speak.
"That is not always the case, of course. But when it comes to the marquess…" The duchess trailed off, and her gaze turned assessing, as if she were considering her next words carefully. "I'm not asking you to like him. But I am asking you to consider that your instincts about men may not be as reliable as you’d like to believe."
Estella wanted to argue. She wanted to say that she was perfectly capable of judging character, thank you, and that a man being pleasant was not inherently suspicious.
But the milliner's bill was already paid, Mr. Phelps had suddenly run off to Cornwall, and she was apparently in such dire straits that a duchess felt compelled to rescue her. And now she was being told that her judgment was flawed, and?—
Well, Estella wasn't certain she was wrong.
