February 28th, 1891 — Macnair Home, Inverness-shire
Months had passed since the beginning of Macmillan's courtship of his cousin, and there had not yet been any attempt to make a proposal (at least, not any proposal that he'd been made aware of).
Valerian was not all that eager to see his cousin married off, if only because he'd decided that—apart from his general attractiveness—Mr. Macmillan had nothing to bring to the family apart except the ability to turn Tatiana into a married woman. He knew his cousin well enough to see that his Ministry credentials were probably appealing, but Valerian thought they were less so.
But if Tatiana was no more impressed than he, what did she see in him?
He ought not to care so much, but Mother did care—and as it went, Valerian tended to care very much about what his mother thought. He sought her advice, her wisdom, her approval, and now that meant taking an interest in his cousin's thought process that he normally would not think twice about.
As most days now went in Inverness-shire, Valerian had settling into the warmed drawing room as the cold rain droplets pattered against the windows, his cousin seated opposite of him on the loveseat.
"A penny for your thoughts, Tatiana," he said, disrupting the silence.
