“You might be,” Elinor said. “Everyone does at first. But gratitude fades when the favor ends. Habit is easy to break when no one’s feelings are involved. Love…” She tied the end of the braid and smoothed it down. “Love keeps arguing its case even when you try to be sensible.”
Maria smiled without meaning to. “That sounds troublesome.”
“It is,” Elinor said dryly. “Worth the trouble, if the person is.”
Maria turned a little on the stool. “How does one know if the person is?”
“You watch how you are with them,” Elinor said. “Do you speak more carefully because you are afraid, or more carefully because you want to be kind? Do you like yourself in the room with them? If the answers are the good ones, the person is likely worth the trouble.”
Maria looked down at her hands. The gloves were folded, a small, calm bundle beside the mirror. “And how does one know if he feels the same?”
Elinor’s mouth tipped.
“He will make room for you,” she said. “He will tell you where he’s going and come back when he says. He will remember toask, not only to tell. He will take your part when it costs him something. He will not talk over your words. When he is wrong, he will try to put it right without making a speech of it.”
Maria nodded slowly. “He did some of those this evening.”
“I thought as much,” Elinor said mildly. “The footmen talk, and I have eyes.”
“Is jealousy part of that list?” Maria asked. “Does it prove anything?”
“It proves he is human,” Elinor said. “It proves you matter to him. It does not prove he is good for you. That part is shown by what he does with the jealousy. If he uses it to scold and cage, it’s no good. If he owns it and behaves better, then perhaps.”
Maria laughed under her breath. “That is very plain.”
“It should be,” Elinor said. “We make ourselves silly when we dress these things up.”
“Why do we make it so complicated when it could be simple?”
“Because we are human,” Elinor said, slipping out another pin. “We second-guess ourselves. We fear being fools. So we add steps to avoid a small hurt and end up tripping over the extra ones.”
Maria huffed a quiet laugh. “I am very good at extra steps.”
“I have noticed,” Elinor said, not unkindly. “You weigh every word until it is thin.”
“What should I do instead?”
“Say smaller things sooner,” Elinor replied. “If he meets you there, you go another step. If he does not, you have not risked your whole heart in a single throw.”
Maria considered that. “And if I panic?”
“Excuse yourself and drink water,” Elinor said. “Then try again tomorrow. Love allows for tomorrow.”
Maria smiled. “You are very sensible.”
“I am paid to be,” Elinor said, a corner of her mouth lifting. “And I have watched enough couples to know that the ones who do well keep things plain.”
Maria breathed in, steadier. “Plain, then. Small, honest things.”
“Elinor nodded. “Start there.”
“What would you start with, if you were me?”
“Something plain.”
Maria laughed.
“Of course, yes. As you said before. She rose, the braid settling against her shoulder. “Thank you.”