She left without waiting for a reply, her footsteps even and unhurried.
August stared at the closed door then at his hands which trembled very slightly.
He realized, with a mix of admiration and dread, that she had already succeeded in what no one else ever had: she had thrown him off his axis.
For a man whose entire existence had been built on managing, on controlling, it was a most disagreeable sensation.
He ran a hand through his hair, and for the first time in his life, he admitted that he had no idea what to do about his own marriage.
Eight
Eliza entered the breakfast room with a step so careful, it might have left footprints on the air. She’d spent the hour prior rehearsing nothing so much as indifference, having concluded there was little use in being the first to yield. The sight that greeted her did not please.
August, tyrant of the breakfast table, was already installed behind the news sheets, elbows bracketed on either side of his plate. His coffee, she noted, had been poured not by a servant but by himself. There was already a slice of marmalade toast, mercilessly cornered, awaiting its end.
She considered retreat. Her new rooms were comfortable. They contained a small desk, a view of the side gardens, and none of her husband. She could invent an errand or a headache and not be called to account.
But no. If she wished to share a roof with a Vestiere, she would not begin her tenure as a fugitive.
She sat.
August did not look up. He turned a page then adjusted his cup by an exact quarter inch.
Eliza took up the butter and began to prepare a slice of toast.
A minute passed. Then another. The only sound was the slow, implacable tick of the clock and the swish of paper. Eliza waited then matched him bite for bite, refusing to yield the first word.
Finally, August said, “I hope you found the west garden satisfactory.”
She regarded him without expression. “I did. You maintain the most remarkable hedges. They nearly prevented me from returning at all.”
He turned a page, eyes scanning but not reading. “You are always at liberty to stay as long as you like.”
“Thank you,” she said. “I was not aware my liberties required your approbation.”
He raised a brow though he still did not meet her eyes. “They do not. But if you vanish again, I should be obliged to alert the constable, and they are not cheap.”
She drank her tea. “I will be sure to leave my itinerary pinned to the front door, should I feel the urge to abscond.”
He gave a half-smile. “As you wish.”
The silence fell again. Eliza watched the clock, the way the second hand bullied the minute. When she reached for another slice, she found the basket was already at his side of the table.
“May I trouble you for the bread?” she asked.
August folded his news sheet with perfect geometry. “I thought you preferred rye.”
“There is none,” she replied.
He seemed genuinely surprised then shrugged. “I suppose I have devoured it all. My apologies.”
She accepted the basket then said, “Do not trouble yourself. I am accustomed to managing with what remains.”
He looked at her then. His eyes were an undecipherable color, something between brown and gold, but they did not waver. “I am not the villain you wish me to be.”
“Of course not,” she replied. “I have no such wishes at all.”
They regarded one another, both at a loss for what to do next.