Dominic, two steps back, said nothing. But Annabelle heard it all the same: a short exhale through his nose, very nearly a sound.
They were at the carriages by the time the light came down amber and low over the rooftops.
James had grown slow-limbed in the way of a tired child who had not admitted to being tired. He was still holding the paper-wrapped horse against his chest.
Lady Rosenhall arrived at the first carriage and said, “I am prepared to call this a satisfactory outing,” and Helena said, “High praise,” and Lady Rosenhall said, “I ate a toffee apple, Helena. I believe it qualifies as considerably more than high praise.”
She got in. Helena touched James lightly on the shoulder in parting; he tolerated it with the look of a boy logging an objection, and got in after her.
James looked at Annabelle. “Tuesday,” he said.
“Tuesday,” she said.
He nodded. Then he turned to Dominic and looked at him for a moment with the close attention he gave to problems he was working through.
“You were less grumpy today,” he announced.
Dominic held his gaze. One corner of his mouth moved upward, briefly. “Thank you,” he said.
James gave a small nod of satisfaction and walked to his carriage.
Dominic looked at Annabelle, and there was a glint in his gaze that made her feel as though she were prey being considered by a particularly indecisive but hungry predator.
“Thank you,” he said, again. He had not glanced toward the carriages or toward the gate. His eyes were on her, and he did not move them.
Annabelle held his gaze. “Of course,” she said.
She had meant it to close the conversation. She did not turn immediately. He did not look away, and the evening air came in cold off the street, and somewhere at the fair’s edge the small trumpet started up its final number, and neither of them said anything further.
Helena was at the carriage door.
Annabelle looked at Dominic once more, unable to keep her eyes from sliding back to his. Just catching his eye made her pulse kick in her throat, so she quickly turned back to the carriage and got in.
The carriage moved south. Lady Rosenhall had her eyes closed and her head back against the squab. Helena was describing something about the ring-toss game, and Annabelle was following none of it.
At the corner, she turned and looked back through the window.
Dominic was still standing where she had left him, at the mouth of the street, hands clasped behind his back. James’s carriage had already pulled into the evening traffic. He was the only one still there, watching the carriage go.
The street turned, and he passed from sight. Annabelle faced forward.
“He hasn’t moved,” Lady Rosenhall said, her eyes still closed.
Annabelle didn’t know what to say to that, so she said nothing. And Helena, beside her, said nothing either, much to her relief.
The carriage rolled on. Annabelle looked at her hands in her lap and straightened her gloves, one finger at a time, and did not look back again.
Chapter Sixteen
“This arrived this morning,” Dominic said and set the note on the table.
Miles picked it up, read it, and set it flat again. He looked at the fire. Outside the window, a coal merchant’s horse went past at a slow walk, and the sound of it faded.
“He wants to know how the Season is progressing,” Miles said.
“He wants to know whether she’s met anyone worth the effort.” Dominic watched the decanter rather than his friend. “He’s happy in Shropshire. His wife is well. The estate is in good order. He met a baronet’s son with a tolerable income and asks if anyone better has turned up by June.”
Miles was quiet long enough that the fire settled with a soft crack.
