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“It is a reasonable idea.”
“Shall we begin tonight?”
“Yes. But you must go first. I have no idea what to say.”
He tilted his head to the side. “We can keep it very simple. Tonight, I will share with you that my favorite color is blue.”
“I am not surprised after looking at your room.”
He glanced over his shoulder. “Ah, yes. I had it done over a few years ago. You like it?”
“I do. Mine is lovely as well, though your mother told me that she chose these colors.”
He nodded.
“Tell me, James. Did I remove your mother from her chamber?”
His mouth gave a tight smile. “No. She left it once I returned from Cambridge with a desire to call Chelton my main residence again, shortly after my father died. She had the room done over in preparation for my bride, but it has sat empty for more than a year. I am sure it does her heart glad to see it being used before the colors could go out of fashion.”
I couldn’t help but laugh at the notion, though my stomach tightened. “Did you have a bride in mind when you returned from Cambridge?”
His brow puckered, then cleared. “Oh, no. I did not. Mother only wanted me to marry and prepared the room accordingly, but I was not yet ready. That is to say, I did court some women to appease her. A few still remain in Bakewell, and I’m certain you will soon come to count them as friends.”
“They are married now?”
He glanced away and cleared his throat. “One of them is, yes. The other has remained unwed. She is a lovely woman, but we did not suit.”
And the poor woman had undoubtedly dreamed of becoming the mistress of Chelton. Surely James was mistaken, and we would not easily become friends.
I looked to the waning fire. It took me back in my mind to the night I met James at the ball and all that had transpired since. This entire situation began because I wanted to look about a man’s library. Perhaps that is what I would share tonight.
“My favorite pastime is reading.”
“I did surmise as much,” James said, his voice soft. “Given the way we met. Perhaps you can share something different?”
“Different. Very well.” I searched my mind for something to say, but the only noteworthy things about me were my love of reading and my innate discomfort of finding myself the center of attention in social situations—both of which he was familiar with. “My cousin, Jane, is my dearest friend. She was married last summer and now lives in Scotland, which had previously felt like a whole world away.”
“Though now, you probably live closer to her than you do to London.”
“I would have to consult a map, but I do think you might be correct.”
“How did Jane meet her Scottish husband?”
“They have known one another their entire lives. Their mothers are good friends, and they attended the house parties every summer at Arden Castle, just like we did.”
“Ah, yes. The house party you were traveling to when your carriage broke.” He chuckled, but the sound was strained, uneasy. “When your father spoke to me of the connection between him and Henry I did not realize you had met my brother as well.”
I opened my mouth to speak, but James continued.
“Not to say there is anything the matter with it, for I should have made that assumption. It was odd, however, that I did not connect the points before we arrived. But Henry never mentioned anything about it.”
“I can only assume our meeting did not make a strong enough mark on your brother for him to consider sharing it with you.”
“Yes, well . . . I did arrive at the hunting lodge with Benedict only a few days later. It would seem the sort of thing a man shares simply because it is of interest.” He shook his head. “There is no understanding Henry sometimes. He and I have never seen eye-to-eye on most matters.”
My stomach swooped uncomfortably. I had formed what I’d believed to be an immediate bond with Henry last summer merely because we had understood one another so fully in our short conversations. If what James said was true of him and his brother, what could it say for James and me?
“You look as though something is troubling you. Is it something I said?”
