The conversation became easier after that.
Questions about tea became questions about Bellafonte itself: its warm climate, the sunflower fields, the crops that grew there, the villages connected by red-dirt roads, and the trade caravans that carried southern goods northward.
Aurelian found himself describing home without thinking.
He spoke of the scent of the fields after summer rain, of rows of sunflowers turning toward the light, of coffee groves and fruit orchards and farmers arguing cheerfully over weather predictions at market.
The women listened with varying degrees of interest, but none looked bored.
Eventually, Lady Primrose set her tea down.
“You are different when you speak of Bellafonte.”
Aurelian looked at her.
“Different?”
“Certain.”
The observation caught him off guard.
“I know Bellafonte.”
“Yes.” Her gaze remained on him.
“Which is why I invited you.”
The terrace quieted again.
Aurelian straightened.
He should have known the comfortable portion of the afternoon would not last indefinitely.
“The capital has become fascinated with you, Lord Bellafonte.
Some believe your behavior at Beaumont’s tea was calculated.”
His brows drew together.
“Calculated?”
“That kindness toward Cecily made you appear compassionate.
That an ambitious gentleman might find such an appearance useful.”
“For whose benefit?”
“Anyone watching.”
Aurelian glanced around the terrace.
Several women quickly became very interested in their teacups.
“There is always someone watching, is there not?”
“In Evelina?
Usually.”
“That is deeply unsettling.”
A few smiles appeared around the table.
“It is also why I wanted to know whether you would defend Cecily when doing so offered you no social advantage.”
Aurelian looked at her.
Only then did the shape of the afternoon become completely clear.
The questions.
The arguments.
The deliberate pressure.
It had not been about convincing him that he had been wrong.
Lady Primrose had wanted to know whether he would change his answer merely because she was powerful enough to make disagreement uncomfortable.
“And have you decided?”
Lady Primrose lifted her cup.
“I have decided your judgment near bodies of water remains questionable.”
Aurelian stared.
“That was not what I asked.”
“It is the answer you are receiving.”
He continued staring at her.
The older women smiled knowingly.
Lady Primrose inclined her head.
“You disagreed with me even when you believed it might offend me.”
“I did not wish to offend you.”
“And yet you continued.”
Aurelian looked down at his hands.
“I could not agree merely because disagreement was uncomfortable.”
“No,” Lady Primrose said.
“It appears you could not.”
The words were not praise exactly.
They felt close enough.
Warmth settled quietly in Aurelian’s chest.
Lady Primrose turned toward the terrace doors.
“You may bring Cecily in now.”
Aurelian looked at her.
“She was waiting?”
“She was finishing her etiquette lesson.
I told her she could join us after I determined whether our guest was suitable company.”
Aurelian blinked.
“Was there a possibility I was not?”
“There is always a possibility.”
Before he could decide whether she was teasing him, the doors opened.
Cecily entered beside her governess in a pale blue dress, the rose-colored ribbon Aurelian had rescued now secured firmly in her sandy-blond hair.
Very firmly, he noticed.
Someone had apparently learned something from the pond incident after all.
The moment she saw him, her solemn expression brightened.
“Lord Bellafonte!”
She hurried two steps before the governess cleared her throat.
Cecily stopped.
Her shoulders straightened.
She folded her hands and walked the remaining distance with such deliberate care that Aurelian had to suppress a smile.
“Good afternoon, Lord Bellafonte.”
Aurelian rose.
“Good afternoon, Lady Cecily.”
After a quick glance toward Lady Primrose for permission, he stepped away from the table and lowered himself onto one knee so he could speak to Cecily at eye level.
“I am glad to see you again.”
“I am glad you came.”
Her governess carried a parcel wrapped in cream paper and pink string.
Cecily accepted it and offered it to him with both hands.
“This is for you.”
Aurelian looked between the parcel and her.
“For me?”
“As thanks for helping with my ribbon.”
Aurelian accepted it carefully.
“You did not have to give me anything.”
“I wanted to.”
His expression softened.
“Then I will treasure it.”
“You have not opened it,” Katerina called from the table.
“It may be dreadful.”
Cecily looked horrified.
“Katerina,” Lady Primrose warned.
“I am certain it is not dreadful,” Aurelian assured Cecily.
“And even if it were, I would treasure the thought.”
The worry immediately disappeared from her face.
He untied the string rather than tearing the paper, carefully loosening the knot and folding the cream wrapping aside.
Inside was a slim book bound in faded blue cloth.
Worn silver letters marked the cover.
Verses Beneath the Evening Sky.
Its edges had softened with use, and several thin ribbons marked favorite pages.
One corner was slightly bent, and the cloth along the spine had faded where hands had held it repeatedly.
Aurelian ran his thumb carefully over the cover.
“This is yours.”
“One of my favorites.
I have read it six times.”
“Seven,” the governess corrected.
Cecily thought about it.
“Seven.”
Aurelian looked up at her.
“And you are giving it to me?”
“I thought you would like it.”
The gift was not new or expensive.
It was something she had loved enough to read seven times.
Something she had carried and opened and returned to until the cover had softened beneath her fingers.
Aurelian held it more carefully.
“Thank you.
This may be one of the kindest gifts I have ever received.”
Cecily beamed.
“Do you like poetry?”
“Very much.”
“I knew it.”
Aurelian smiled.
“How?”
“You look like someone who likes poetry.”
Aurelian glanced toward Lady Primrose.
“Is that a compliment?”
“That depends entirely on the poet.”