“On the contrary,” he replied. “I daresay most people come to regret it sooner or later.”
The answer surprised her. It was not what she had expected from a stranger making dry remarks in a ballroom. Before she could decide whether to respond, he rescued the conversation himself.
“You have been away from London some time, I think.”
She looked at him quickly. “Why do you suppose that?”
“You watch the room as if you know how it works and dislike that knowledge. Those who have never been here are merely dazzled. Those who belong to it comfortably seldom stand in corners.”
“And what of those who stand in corners and make observations on the young?”
“Those are the worst sort entirely.”
The reply was so immediate that Aurelia laughed despite herself. She had not intended to laugh. It escaped her before caution could catch it. He looked faintly pleased, though he did not appear vain enough to dwell upon his success. For one foolish instant, she was too aware of him standing there beside her, and of how easily this conversation had begun to feel set apart from the rest of the room.
“You did not answer me,” he pointed out, though there was no urgency in his voice.
“No.”
“Then perhaps I ought to be offended.”
She raised an amused eyebrow. “I had not thought you delicate.”
“I am delicate in all matters of curiosity.”
She hesitated only a moment. There was something about him that invited honesty, though in moderation.
“I have been in France,” she found herself revealing.
“Do you prefer it?”
Aurelia considered. “In some respects.”
He seemed to hear the reserve in that answer, for he did not press her as a more foolish man might have done.
“I cannot blame you,” he told her. “London is not always improved by acquaintance.”
“You say that as one who knows it too well.”
“I have lately renewed the acquaintance against my better judgment.”
“Then you also have been away,” she concluded.
“I have,” he confirmed.
She glanced at him. “In France, too?”
“No.” He paused. “Elsewhere.”
The word was mild, but his tone was not. It was enough to make her look at him more carefully. There was something about him that did not belong wholly to ballrooms and polished floors. He stood too straight, perhaps. Or perhaps it was merely that he looked as if he knew how to be still in a way other gentlemen did not.
“Abroad, then,” she mused.
“In a manner of speaking,” she watched him nod.
“That is an answer contrived only to reveal nothing.”
“And yours about France was better?” he retorted playfully.
