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Though Willow was not exactly like his sister. Celia had been regal, a true lady. She would never have been labeled a heathen. Oddly, that comforted him. But perhaps heathens fared better with sickness. Perhaps the rules were now more necessary than ever.

The doubt and uncertainty ate at him.

“Ambrose?”

His gaze lowered to her eyes, saw the question there.

“Are you alright?” she prompted.

“My apologies,” he murmured. “I seem to be distracted.”

“Well, there is nothing like an eclair to bring you back to the present. Their sweetness solves all problems, you know,” she said as the dance ended. “Would you like to join me for one?”

Eclairs. Sweets. Unhealthy. But he did not point that out. Because at that moment, she smiled at him. And he was lost. He was such an idiot. A lost idiot. But in that moment, he didn’t care.

“Lead the way.”