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“That is precisely it.”

I remain standing, composed, while a single thought crosses my mind with ungraceful persistence: that she leave. And soon.

“You must forgive me for showing up without warning.”

The smile I offer her does not reach my eyes, a gesture learned by heart and repeated by inertia.

“My brothers have been very busy these past few days,” she continues. “And I... I was bored.”

I rest my hands on the surface of the desk, the wood creaks softly under the weight.

“You know, with what has happened...”

I remain silent. The distant ticking of the clock suddenly becomes unbearable. Laurence coughs again.

“What exactly has happened?”

“Oh, are you not aware? The Viscount fell from his horse. It seems he sprained an ankle. Richard also spoke of a rather violent fever.”

My body stiffens before my mind even grasps the meaning of the words.

It could be any Viscount.

“Who are you talking about?”

“The Viscount Rochefort. Evander.”

I furrow my brow. She brings the cup to her lips again.

Is he injured?

“And so?” I say louder than necessary. “Go on.”

She finishes her sip with exasperating calm, then sets the cup down. My eyes slide from her to Laurence and back again, rapid, restless. Laurence remains motionless, his gaze lowered.

Either she speaks or—

“You mustn’t be alarmed,” she resumes. “Richard and Nathaniel assured us it is nothing serious.”

“Nathaniel?”

“Yes, he returned.”

My hands slide over my thighs, my fingers clenching until the fabric of my trousers pulls taut.

“When did this accident occur?”

“A few days ago.”

I look down at the porcelain of the cup, at the pale reflection dancing upon it. Then I look at her again.

My face is composed.

My patience is not.

“You seem shaken, is everything alr—”

“Laurence, ready the carriage.”