Chapter 12 #2
“And you've been different since she arrived.
Questioning things. Pushing back against your father.
Refusing to marry Constance because suddenly 'boring' matters to you.” He raised an eyebrow.
“You might not see it yet. Or you're just too stubborn to admit it. But your father sees it. And that terrifies him.”
“So, what do I do?”
“You make a choice.” Garrick's expression turned serious. “Either you commit fully to your father's path—marry Constance or someone like her, stop questioning, be the perfect weapon he wants you to be. Or you accept that you're becoming someone different and deal with the consequences.”
“That's not much of a choice.”
“No,” Garrick agreed. “But it's the only ones you've got.”
He clapped my shoulder. “Go home. Check on your houseguest. And August? Whatever you decide about Red, decide it quickly. Because your father will make the decision for you if you wait too long.”
Then he was gone, leaving me alone in the corridor with the weight of impossible choices—and the faint, dangerous thought that my father was right.
The house was quiet when I returned, save for the faint murmur of voices from the morning room. I had expected to find Adeline alone, irritated with the task I had saddled her with. Instead, I found her and Lily in conversation.
Lily sat in one of the armchairs, legs tucked beneath her, tea cradled between her hands as if she belonged there.
The sight stopped me cold.
She shouldn’t look like she belonged anywhere near my life. Yet there she was, fitting into the space as if it had been waiting for her all along. As if the entire world had shifted slightly off its axis the moment she arrived.
I stayed in the doorway, unseen, watching.
Adeline sat opposite Lily. I caught only fragments.
Adeline’s pointed questions. Lily’s quick, wry replies.
Yet the cadence told its own story. Conversation shouldn’t have flowed at all between those two: Adeline, all precision and guarded edges, rarely bothered with pleasantries, and Lily, the outsider she had every reason to distrust.
But there they were, volleying words as though they’d struck an uneasy truce, Adeline’s sharp scrutiny met by Lily’s nimble deflections. It was too. . . comfortable. Adeline trusted almost no one, yet she hadn’t shut Lily down. And that realization unnerved me far more than silence ever could.
I shifted my weight, making my presence known. Adeline glanced up first, ever perceptive.
“She’s still in one piece, if that’s what you’re here to check,” she said dryly.
Lily smirked into her tea. “You say that like I’m some wild animal you’re babysitting.”
Adeline leaned back. “If you were, I’d have locked the door.”
The corner of my mouth twitched, but I smoothed the expression before it could form. Lily was watching me now, head tilted slightly as if trying to read something on my face. I didn’t like it.
“I assume you didn’t give her any trouble,” I said, stepping fully into the room.
“Oh, I gave her plenty.” Lily’s tone was bright, her defiance casual.
I looked her over despite myself. She'd changed into one of the dresses I'd given her—a deep aubergine. The color turned her skin to ivory and her hair to flame—too flattering. I forced my gaze away. None of it mattered.
But the ease in her posture did. She wasn’t afraid anymore. And that should have bothered me more than it did.
“Well,” Adeline said, standing, “if you’re going to be glaring at each other, I have better things to do.”
“Running off already?” Lily asked. “I thought we were finally getting along.”
“Hardly.” Adeline paused beside me, murmuring, “She’s cleverer than you think, and more honest than she means to be. Don’t waste it.” Then she left me with the echo of that warning.
Lily set down her teacup with deliberate care. “So. Are you here to interrogate me about what Adeline and I discussed? Or just to glower disapprovingly at my posture?”
“Your posture is abysmal,” I said, moving to the sideboard to pour myself a drink. “But no. I trust Adeline's assessment.”
“How refreshing. Trust.” She uncurled from the chair, standing with unnatural grace that no amount of training could quite tame. “Does that mean I've graduated from prisoner to. . . what? Tolerated houseguest?”
“It means you've survived your first day without causing a diplomatic incident.” I took a sip of brandy. “Though encountering Constance was certainly a near miss.”
“She doesn't like me much.”
“She doesn't like anyone she perceives as competition.”
“And am I competition?”
“You're a complication,” I said finally. “Which is worse.”
“Worse for whom?”
Both of us, I thought. But I didn't say it.
“You must be hungry,” I said instead, too briskly.
“Is that your way of asking me out?”
“It’s my way of establishing propriety. If you’re to pass as Adeline’s cousin, you need to be seen behaving appropriately. Dinner at a reputable establishment. No gossip.”
“How romantic,” she murmured. “A strategic dinner.”
“Everything about this arrangement is strategic, Miss Whitmore.”
For a heartbeat her expression flickered—hurt or irritation, I couldn’t tell. “Of course. Strategy. I’ll keep that in mind.”
“Get your cloak,” I said. “And try to look as if you’re enjoying my company.”
“Oh, I enjoy your company immensely.” Her smile was all teeth. “It’s the constant reminder that I’m a prisoner in silk that spoils the fun.”
“You’re a guest.”
“I’m an informant you haven’t decided what to do with yet.” She moved past me, close enough I caught her sweet scent—lavender. “But sure, let’s call it being a guest. It sounds kinder.”
I didn’t stop her. There was no defense against the truth.