“You are ruthless,” she said at last. “You attempted to unsettle me.”
“I did,” he said unashamedly. “You play better when you are not trying to please the hoop.”
“I suppose you are right,” She said and then laughed, startled by the accuracy. “It’s rather annoying how often you are.”
“I will limit how often I am right,” he said. “It is not a comfortable habit for marriage.”
“Do not pretend to be wise and charming within the same breath,” She shook her head at him. “It gives me nothing to do.”
“Then give me something to do,” he said, only a half step toward her.
She felt the echo of his earlier whisper at her ear and did not push it away. “Come back at luncheon,” she said, as if it were a very small thing, which it was and was not. “And tell me if your letters made sense.”
“I will,” he said. “And you, tell me if the morning held.”
“It did,” she said. “It will.”
He looked at her and, because his friends were not present to giggle over it, did not disguise the look. Maria felt her cheeks warm and did not pretend anything else was making them do so.
“You must go,” she said softly. “Or I shall begin to believe mornings can be spent this way and nothing else.”
“Let them, sometimes,” he said. “We can afford it.”
“Can we?”
“We can,” he repeated. “We have stubbornness and two good tempers between us. That is at least a small fortune.”
She smiled. “Go,” she said again, though she did not want him to.
He bowed and left the room, the echo of his steps soft and familiar already.
Maria stood a moment longer and touched her cheek with the back of her fingers.
It was an afternoon well spent.
CHAPTER 19
“It’s too much,” Maria said, stopping a safe arm’s length from the gown. “I’m almost afraid to touch it.”
“Your Grace, if you do not wear such a thing, who will?” Elinor, the maid, hid her smile.
The day of the ball had arrived, and Maria was looking at the dress that Stephen had gotten for her. It was exquisite, of course. So much so that she felt scared to even touch it.
“That is exactly what frightens me,” Maria murmured. “It looks as if one must earn the right to breathe near it.”
Elinor stepped to the stand and lifted a corner of the skirt with practiced care.
“You breathe very well in silk, Your Grace. See? It behaves if you do.” She let the fabric fall again, the folds settling like a curtain.
Maria drew closer. The dress was pale blue with a quiet sheen, the bodice scattered with tiny embroidered stars, the skirt edged with a narrow band of silver. The sleeves were short, the gloves long and impossibly smooth. It was better than any gown she owned. Better, in truth, than anything she had imagined on her back.
“It would make the evening easier,” the maid continued.
“Easier,” Maria repeated under her breath. “As if a gown could do that.”
“It can help,” Elinor said. “People see a fine dress and behave as if the wearer is fine too. It gives you a step on the floor before you take the first one.”
“Then we will accept its help.” She glanced at the mirror and grimaced. “Do I look like a woman who belongs to such a dress?”