“It is barely four,” Stephen said.
“Then I have time to be worse,” Nicholas said, delighted. He dropped his voice for Maria. “Are you—truly?”
“Truly,” she said.
He glanced at Stephen. “I am almost satisfied.”
“Try again next Thursday,” Stephen said, and Nicholas showed a quick flash of teeth that meantfair enough.
They took their leave as the sky decided it had held its light long enough. Nicholas kissed Maria’s cheek and told her not to plant anything at dusk. Violet hugged her and whispered, “Ball,” into her ear like a spell that did not need repeating.
When the carriage rattled away, the lawn looked suddenly like what it had been before: grass and footprints and the memory of laughter. Maria stood with Stephen at the top of the steps where the house swallowed people whole or gave them back kindly, depending on the hour.
“You were kind,” she said, eyes on the hedge.
“To whom?”
“To me,” she said. “With the scarf.”
“I told the truth,” he said.
She swallowed because the truth had landed exactly where it could do the most good and the most trouble. “Violet wants us at the ball.”
“Of course she does,” he said.
“Will you go?” she asked.
He was quiet for a breath. “Yes.”
Her heart, ridiculous, did something quick and obvious. “Then so will I.” She turned for the door before her face betrayed her, and felt him fall into step beside her without being asked—close enough to be present, far enough not to crowd. It was a small thing. It felt like practice for something larger.
CHAPTER 15
Maria found the parcels on her bed in a careful stack: three long boxes tied with narrow ribbons and a small square of card tucked beneath the topmost bow.
She touched the ribbon with the very tip of her finger, half afraid that if she pressed any harder, the whole arrangement might vanish like a dream.
She broke the first seal with her nail. Tissue sighed back. Blue spilled out. It was the very shade Stephen had once told her to try, the evening he had looked at her in the library and said, with an odd certainty,You should wear blue.
She untied the second ribbon more quickly. Red. She ran her palm over the fold.
The third box held cream scattered with the smallest embroidered stars.
Under the last sheet of tissue lay the card.For the ball. And after.
She stood with her hands braced on either side of the boxes, head bent.
She had not planned to feel anything more complicated than gratitude. What rose instead was a clean, bright delight that made her chest feel too small.
She should go to him. She should saythank you, even if he had told her yesterday that thanks were unnecessary. She took the card, left the gowns exactly as they were, and went out.
She paused at the study, smoothed the card once with her thumb, and knocked.
“Come,” Stephen called.
He sat at the long table with a lamp dragged close, sleeves pushed to the forearms, hair mussed in that unconscious way that meant he had thought with his hands. She stepped in and held out the card.
“I came to thank you.”