“I never am,” Peter said. “I am frequently accurate in a tone that sounds like mockery. That is different. Why do you not go to her, since remaining here sets your neck at such an odd angle?”
“Because I have already gone once and made a fool of myself,” Stephen said. “I did not look at her.”
Peter’s brows rose. “On purpose?”
“By incompetence. It is worse.”
“Indeed,” Peter agreed. “It suggests you forgot how eyes function. That is difficult to forgive.”
Stephen considered the floor. “She looked—” He shut his mouth, because there was no way to complete the sentence that did not sound adolescent.
“Like someone you have married,” Peter supplied. “One does hear it is allowed to look at one’s own wife.”
“I am aware,” Stephen said dryly. “I am also aware that staring like an oaf is not recommended.”
“You are not staring like an oaf,” Peter said. “You are glancing like a man pretending not to stare like an oaf. It is a different choreography, though scarcely less obvious.”
“Thank you,” Stephen said. “Your help is, as ever, indefatigable.”
Peter lifted his glass in salute. “I am attempting to prevent you from injuring your neck. The thing is bending like a reed.”
Stephen forced himself to attend to his senses. “Very well. Talk to me about something ordinary.”
“Horses,” Peter suggested. “You could bore even yourself with horses.”
“I have already been bored with horses three times this evening,” Stephen said. “Anything else.”
“Politics?”
“I am not so cruel to either of us.”
“Your library catalogue.”
“I would rather be strangled with it.”
Peter regarded him with affection and a little pity. “You are lost. You might as well admit it. It does not lessen the condition, but it often improves the company.”
Stephen made a sound that was nearly a laugh and did not try to disguise it. “If you call me sentimental, we shall not be friends by morning.”
“I would not dare,” Peter said. “I will call youmarried, which is both more accurate and more dangerous.”
“Dangerous?” Stephen repeated, amused despite himself.
“Certainly. All changed men are dangerous to their own plans.”
“I had very few plans for this evening,” Stephen said. “Beyond not disgracing either of us.”
Peter’s gaze sharpened. “Then you must go to her and ask for a dance.”
“I am not certain she wants a spectacle made,” Stephen said. “She is learning the room.”
“Then go to her and stand at her side while she learns it,” Peter said. “You are very nearly useful when you stand and say nothing.”
“I did that before,” Stephen said. “Except for the useful part.”
Peter considered him for a moment. “And?”
“And I told her she must be seen. That she should speak to more people. Gardeners, even.”