“I would not. He may find it incurable.”
Andrew’s smile deepened faintly. “I believe it is.”
Philip followed his gaze to where Frances sat with Mary Grace in her lap while Emma adjusted the christening gown and Sophia offered unnecessary assistance. Lilian nestled nearby, asking whether babies liked almond cake and whether Mary Grace would be permitted a pony.
Philip’s expression softened. “You look happy, Sinclair.”
Andrew accepted the words with a seriousness they deserved. “I am.”
Philip glanced at him. “That was easier for you to say than I expected.”
“It was not easy. Only true.”
His friend nodded once. That was Philip’s way of giving blessing without sentiment. Andrew appreciated it more than he could say.
The afternoon passed in such exchanges, in laughter and tea and the soft passing of the baby from one trusted pair of arms to another. Mary Grace slept through most of her own celebration, which Frances declared a sign of excellent taste.
It was not until later, when the first bustle had diminished and the guests had begun to drift toward the dining room, that Andrew noticed Frances slip away. At once, his attention followed. He waited long enough not to be obvious, then entrusted Mary Grace to Emma, who received her with a knowing look and a smile.
Then, he went in search of his wife. He found her in the conservatory. The room lay at the back of the house, warm and glass-walled, filled with the green breath of orange trees and potted ferns. Frances stood near the far window with one hand resting upon the table.
“There you are,” he smiled, approaching her.
She turned.
A smile came to her mouth, but it did not quite settle. “Were you looking for me?”
“I am always looking for you.”
Her brows rose. “That is dangerously romantic.”
“I have been warned my condition is incurable.”
“By whom?”
“Philip.”
“Then it must be grave.”
He crossed the room. “Are you tired?”
“A little.”
“Unwell?”
“No.”
He stopped before her, studying her face. “Frances.”
She laughed softly, but there was a tremor beneath it. “You have become very difficult to deceive.”
“I learned from an expert.”
“I do not deceive. I withhold strategically.”
“Then you are withholding now.”
She looked down at her hands. Andrew’s heart began to beat harder.
