For a moment, no one responded.
Dorian remained where he was, one hand still resting near Anne, though they had put some distance between them the instant the door opened.
He knew that the ball would be a much-anticipated event, and he understood why people had not initially responded. He knew they would want to ensure that everything was settled first.
Anne rose to her feet, stepping away slightly as though distance alone could restore everything to normal. “Thank you. You may leave the letters on the desk. I shall handle it.” Her voice was steady enough to suggest nothing unusual had occurred at all.
The footman hesitated for a second, as though uncertain whether he had truly understood the situation, then bowed quickly and withdrew, closing the door behind him with more care than he had when he entered.
Silence returned immediately, but it no longer felt the same.
Dorian exhaled slowly, looking briefly toward the door before turning his attention back to Anne. Neither of them spoke at first, as though both were aware that anything said too soon would acknowledge something neither of them was ready to define.
“I should go,” Anne said quietly.
Dorian did not stop her, though his gaze followed her movements.
“Yes,” he replied after a moment. “You should.”
The pause that followed held more weight than the words themselves.
Anne reached the door before stopping, resting her hand lightly against the frame without turning back fully.
“It is late,” she added, as though reminding them both. “We should not be here like this. It is… it is not right.”
“No, it is not.”
She hesitated, then left. The door closed behind her with a soft finality that felt louder than intended.
* * *
The following two days passed without Dorian seeing much of his wife at all, but since she was planning a ball, he understood.
When they did see one another, he made no attempt to resume what had been interrupted. He did not mention the library, nor did he treat her differently, but he was more restrained. It made their conversations sharper, more careful, though neither of them seemed willing to explain why.
By the time the evening of the ball had arrived, Dorian was quite convinced that Anne had forgotten the night in the library. He envied her for that because he could not forget it.
She stood opposite him as they waited for their guests, her hands folded neatly in front of her. She looked exquisite, and he was most pleased that he had given the seamstress carte blanche to make her as many gowns as she liked. She deserved the very best, even if that was not what she tended to choose for herself.
He broke the silence first.
“You are unusually quiet,” he noted.
“Am I?”
“You are usually more inclined to correct me about things. Not only that, but I did not see you at the stables this morning, nor yesterday, for that matter.”
“I may be conserving my energy.”
That was a possibility, but Dorian rather thought that she had been avoiding him.
“For what purpose?”
“For surviving this evening,” she replied.
That coaxed a faint smile from him.
He knew how to handle such events, but then he had not been as well-behaved when they had hosted a small dinner, which hehad decided was because he did not like the way his friend had passed judgment on him the way he had. There was no harm in it, but it had affected him all the same.
