Anyone he was hoping to marry, she'd asked, not anyone he loved, so he could answer with conviction and without hesitation. "No." Once upon a time he and Tycho had talked about running away together. It can't be as easy as Italy, Ford had said, nestled under the bend of Tycho's arm and their free hands entwined. But that had not been a hope so much as a flight of fancy, and even if the fantasy they had not reached so far as marriage. Being left alone together unmolested by society was the most they'd dared to dream about.
He could turn the question around to her, he recognized. This would have been the moment to ask, and he had credible reasons for asking. Lestrange had said she was engaged in January. She'd gotten to the coat room and half-undressed somehow. There was a gap in her story with a distinctive shape; it wasn't difficult to imagine what fit into it. But if he asked, and she admitted, then he would know — with no chance of going back to pretending he didn't, no hope of willfully overlooking the narrative holes.
He'd thought about this, after the conversation in the break room with Kristoffer Lestrange: thought about the probability that she was pregnant before they married. He'd tracked back through the meeting with Ikenna Farley in his parlor where the engagement had been agreed to, looking for evidence that her father knew or suspected in either direction. But after he'd come to call on her and she had apologized so sincerely for the marriage — after letting her guide him through the Farley house and show him the sunroom and talk about the flowers that would eventually bloom in the garden — he had decided he didn't want to know. They were making the best of it, and the willful ignorance here was a part of it. He didn't want to know.
"Can I kiss you?" he asked.
He could turn the question around to her, he recognized. This would have been the moment to ask, and he had credible reasons for asking. Lestrange had said she was engaged in January. She'd gotten to the coat room and half-undressed somehow. There was a gap in her story with a distinctive shape; it wasn't difficult to imagine what fit into it. But if he asked, and she admitted, then he would know — with no chance of going back to pretending he didn't, no hope of willfully overlooking the narrative holes.
He'd thought about this, after the conversation in the break room with Kristoffer Lestrange: thought about the probability that she was pregnant before they married. He'd tracked back through the meeting with Ikenna Farley in his parlor where the engagement had been agreed to, looking for evidence that her father knew or suspected in either direction. But after he'd come to call on her and she had apologized so sincerely for the marriage — after letting her guide him through the Farley house and show him the sunroom and talk about the flowers that would eventually bloom in the garden — he had decided he didn't want to know. They were making the best of it, and the willful ignorance here was a part of it. He didn't want to know.
"Can I kiss you?" he asked.
Set by Lady!
