He couldn’t say what had possibly made her laugh, but he let her be, and just glanced gratefully towards the church as Caroline reassured him about her sister-in-law. Thank Merlin - or God, in this case - for that.
His smile of relief was cut short, slightly, at what else she had to say. “You won’t be saying that if you catch your death of cold because of me,” he countered (finding that fear quite reasonable), but at the same time acknowledged the chastisement with a small pang of embarrassment. He could not apologise for it, any more than he could prevent himself - but he did not want to exasperate her with his habits, either. If that was what she thought, so be it. He knew she was right, and even so, he hated it.
But now she had begun fussing over him, and there was something so unthinking in the gesture, so comforting and understated and domestic about it that it almost spun the world askew, struck him speechless for a moment. Evander ought to be drying her face, if anyone was doing anything; she was as bedraggled as he was - and there must still be some way to salvage this mess of an outing, whether or not she seemed so much less dismayed by every part of it. Besides, whatever she thought, from his perspective there was still a great deal to worry about: new concerns leapt to mind every moment, unbidden. What if Caroline tired of him sooner rather than later - not just today, but overall - decided it was not at all worth the effort and gave up on him for good? What if Alfred had been entirely right in that damned letter too, and he was incapable of all passion, even in the midst of a courtship? What if everything else went wrong with it, what if he was paralysed at every opportunity until there was nothing left of this, and he came away from it knowing he had murdered every chance?
Covering Caroline’s cold hand with his, he pulled it and the blanket down from the side of his face and firmly out of the way. Carefully, he brushed a damp lock of her hair back behind her ear and looked at her mouth, deliberating. Still attempting to stamp down every last degree of trepidation, he tilted her chin ever so slightly up, and - before he could talk himself out of it, before the rain could stop - leant down to close the gap between them.
His smile of relief was cut short, slightly, at what else she had to say. “You won’t be saying that if you catch your death of cold because of me,” he countered (finding that fear quite reasonable), but at the same time acknowledged the chastisement with a small pang of embarrassment. He could not apologise for it, any more than he could prevent himself - but he did not want to exasperate her with his habits, either. If that was what she thought, so be it. He knew she was right, and even so, he hated it.
But now she had begun fussing over him, and there was something so unthinking in the gesture, so comforting and understated and domestic about it that it almost spun the world askew, struck him speechless for a moment. Evander ought to be drying her face, if anyone was doing anything; she was as bedraggled as he was - and there must still be some way to salvage this mess of an outing, whether or not she seemed so much less dismayed by every part of it. Besides, whatever she thought, from his perspective there was still a great deal to worry about: new concerns leapt to mind every moment, unbidden. What if Caroline tired of him sooner rather than later - not just today, but overall - decided it was not at all worth the effort and gave up on him for good? What if Alfred had been entirely right in that damned letter too, and he was incapable of all passion, even in the midst of a courtship? What if everything else went wrong with it, what if he was paralysed at every opportunity until there was nothing left of this, and he came away from it knowing he had murdered every chance?
Covering Caroline’s cold hand with his, he pulled it and the blanket down from the side of his face and firmly out of the way. Carefully, he brushed a damp lock of her hair back behind her ear and looked at her mouth, deliberating. Still attempting to stamp down every last degree of trepidation, he tilted her chin ever so slightly up, and - before he could talk himself out of it, before the rain could stop - leant down to close the gap between them.
