Dorian stayed still for a moment longer than usual, his hand resting against the glass without lifting it.
“I look at other women,” he said eventually. “I simply do not notice them.”
“You used to walk into rooms like this already entertained,” Tristan reminded him. “Now you look like someone waiting for an excuse to leave.”
“That is because these gatherings are dreadful.”
“You enjoyed dreadful gatherings. You practically built a reputation on enjoying them.”
Dorian let out a quiet breath through his nose. “People grow older.”
Tristan’s expression shifted slightly, amusement still there but softened by something more observant.
“This is not age. You talked about Anne for half the evening. You defended her, smiled when someone mentioned her, and turned down a beautiful woman without even realizing you had done it.”
Dorian frowned faintly, his attention drifting again to the darkened window beside them. Somewhere beyond, Ashford Hall sat quiet beneath the night. Despite himself, he found it embarrassingly easy to picture exactly what Anne might be doing. She would be reading in the drawing room, then checking the stables before bed.
The thought pulled unexpectedly at the corner of his mouth.
Tristan noticed immediately.
Dorian wished that his friend did not know him as well as he did, but that was not possible. His time away would be dreadful; he knew it. And perhaps that was his punishment for not being honest with anyone about his feelings.
“One day complete,” he muttered, “two more to go.”
“You are counting the days now,” Tristan said softly. “Ashford, you are in a terrifying condition.”
CHAPTER 20
Eleanor’s arrival earlier that morning had brought with it the sort of familiarity Anne had not realized she missed until it stood laughing in her entrance hall, carrying entirely too many opinions and refusing to lower her voice for anyone.
She needed her friend more than she had anticipated, and that was made all the more clear to her in Dorian’s absence. He had only left a few hours ago, and yet she could not stop thinking about him.
They wandered slowly through the gardens beneath a pale sky that threatened rain, and Eleanor glanced around the grounds with open approval.
“You have found yourself in a most beautiful home.”
Anne smiled faintly. “It has changed.”
“Well,” Eleanor replied, glancing sideways at her, “I assume married life has transformed everything.”
“Do not start.”
“Believe me, I barely have. I cannot help it, not when I have so many unanswered questions.”
Anne sighed quietly. “Our marriage remains exactly what it was always intended to be.”
But her friend was unbearably interested, and although Anne would have preferred a distraction, she had to admit that she appreciated being able to talk about her marriage with someone whom she knew would not judge her. It was not Eleanor’s nature to be judgmental, even if she did also give good advice.
“And what, pray tell,” Eleanor asked, “was the arrangement, precisely?”
“It is not romantic. It was only ever meant to be a practical affair, and it will never be anything more than that.”
“No,” Eleanor agreed, with a half-smile. “Clearly not.”
Anne narrowed her eyes slightly. “You could at least act as though you believe me.”
“I am curious! You married one of the most notorious men in the county and somehow transformed both his estate and his personality in less than a season. Naturally, I would like details.”
