“Well,” he said, his smile barely touching his mouth, “I wondered what might be keeping Yeats from the farewells. I see now he’s been otherwise occupied.”
Anna smiled pleasantly, voice light. “A brief walk seemed preferable to lingering over drawn-out goodbyes, my lord. But you’re quite right, we’ve taken up enough of the morning.”
His eyes flicked to Anna, then narrowed as he marked the short distance between them. They weren't touching but were close enough to be noticed by someone who was looking for it.
“How touching. A quiet moment before we all return to the regular world.”
Henry didn’t blink. “Some of us never left it.”
Matthew’s smile sharpened, but he said nothing.
Henry inclined his head. “If you’ll excuse us, Vaun.”
He didn’t wait for a reply. He simply placed a light guiding hand at Anna’s back and started toward the corridor.
Anna followed, spine straight, chin high. She didn’t glance back, but she felt Matthew’s gaze like a thread pulling tight between her shoulder blades.
He said nothing else.
Henry hadn’t meant to ride far, only out across the eastern field and back. But the air was sharp and clean, and the quiet, blessedly empty of voices and decisions, had stretched longer than he intended.
By the time he returned, the sun had shifted. The household was already soft with the rhythms of departure, trunks dragged across tile, voices calling for misplaced gloves, the clatter of carriages being readied outside.
Inside, the house had taken on that odd, liminal hush that came when people were almost gone but not quite.
He handed off the reins to a waiting groom and walked slowly back through the side corridor, tugging off his gloves as he went. His boots echoed softly against the stone. He passed two footmen carrying a bonnet box and one of Lady Albury’s impossibly pink cloaks. Neither acknowledged him. He preferred it that way.
He wasn’t sure where Anna was. And it was probably better that he didn’t ask.
He didn’t trust himself to speak to her, not just yet. Not with the feel of her mouth still burned into him, the memory of her voice, her hand at his lapel.
He stepped into the drawing room, expecting to be alone. But he wasn’t.
Henry was ungloved, coat still open, when Matthew found him standing in the drawing room. Sunlight streamed through the tall windows, pooling in gold across the parquet floor. A fresh breeze stirred the edge of his cravat. He’d been quiet, unreadable, but the stillness in his stance said enough.
Matthew entered, his eyes scanning the entire room.
“Looking for someone?” Henry cleared his throat.
“Yeats,” Mathew said smoothly. “A word?’
Henry didn’t turn. “Is that what you’re offering, or what you’re asking for?”
Matthew smiled faintly. “Don’t be like that. We’re family.”
Henry’s brow arched as he turned. “Exactly why I’m cautious.”
Matthew chuckled. “Fair. But this is just a cousin speaking. One man to another.”
Henry waited.
Matthew crossed to the sideboard, idly picking up a crystal stopper, examining it. “You’ve always been clever. Precise. Not prone to sentimental entanglements. It’s one of the things I’ve admired about you.”
“I’d prefer you speak plainly.”
“Oh, but where’s the fun in that?”
He set the stopper down with a soft click. “You’ve been circling Stenton’s cousin.”
