“I have not been told.”
She smiled. She gave the bright, tired smile she had given on the lawn at nuncheon when she had been wet to the knees and her hair had been loose at one side.
Cassian, who had been wanting to see that smile again ever since, felt the small wanting of it land in his chest in a place he had not known a smile could land.
“Then we had better go down, Your Grace.”
“Yes.”
He offered her his arm, and she took it.
He led her out of the gallery without closing the door behind them. He left it open.
CHAPTER 22
In the long drawing room, there were four card tables, fourteen guests, two great vases of late tulips on the mantelpiece, and one Joanna Arnolds standing at the center of the carpet with her hands clasped at her waist and the bright dangerous look that came over her face when she had been left in charge of the entertainment for the evening and proposed to do something irresponsible with it.
“Whist,” she announced.
A small, polite sound of agreement rippled through the room.
“With forfeits.”
A slightly less polite sound followed.
“Forfeits to be announced. Pairs to be chosen by me. I shall pair the players following my instinct. Anyone who objects willbe paired with my brother, who is, by all reports, the most insufferable player in this room.”
“Joanna,” Cassian warned mildly.
“It is true, Cassian. You are. I have been losing to you for ten years, and I have decided this evening to break the cycle. Lady Alice, you are with Lord Greencliff.”
Alice, who had been seated by the second window with a small glass of negus and an expression of mild interest, looked up. “Lord Greencliff, I am told that you are competitive.”
“My Lady,” said Lord Greencliff, who was seated at the nearest table with his cane laid carefully across his knees, “I am also told that you are competitive.”
“I am told a great many things, My Lord.”
“As am I, My Lady.”
He smiled. She smiled back.
Cassian, who had been watching the small exchange with the careful attention of a man whose entire evening hinged on whether his bride and his mentor were going to get along, felt the tightness in his shoulders ease a quarter of an inch.
The tightness was the only thing in him that had eased this evening. Everything else had been getting worse for the last two hours.
He had walked Alice down from the gallery on his arm. He had sat through the careful introductions of his sister to the three guests who had arrived only that afternoon. He had answered questions about the orchard from a dowager whose name he had immediately forgotten. He had nodded at a remark from Victor, who had been seated at the far end of the room with a glass of port and a small steady look. Victor had been watching him since dinner.
Cassian had done all of that with Alice on his arm and the careful warmth of her hand on the inside of his elbow. And all the while, he had been able to stop thinking about what she had said to him in the gallery.
“That is your father’s reason, Cassian. It is not yours.”
He had not been able to think of anything else.
He had told her he would not press her this week. He had not pressed. He also had not, in the four hours since the gallery, managed to say a single useful sentence to any other person in his own house.
He sat down opposite Victor.
Victor was seated at the second table, sporting a civil smile. Joanna had paired him with Lady Westbury, who was looking somewhat alarmed about it.
