Page 59 of The Lion Duke's Proposal
He closed the paper.
He was not going to think about Julia in terms that required him to want anything from her beyond the functional. That had been the point of the rules. Clear lines produced clear expectations, and clear expectations produced no disappointment, which was a system he had operated under successfully for thirty years and had no reason to abandon now.
He did not need her to look at him the way she had looked in the chapel. He did not need the conversation that had happened in a hedge maze clearing, the specific quality of talking to someone who was listening completely rather than waiting to be heard. He did not need the banter.
He was fine without all of that. He had been fine without all of that for thirty years.
He stood, pushed back his chair, and went to find his estate manager because there was work to do, and work had always been, in his experience, the most reliable remedy for everything that thinking made worse.
But as he worked, a thought began to form in his mind. For the next two days, he could not get it out.
The Pridewell townhouse in London had been closed since the wedding. Leander had assumed their stay here would be longer, but that could be easily remedied. Cuthbert had the keys, and the staff could be recalled within the week. The London house was also, as Leander was aware and chose not to examine too closely, four streets from Cavendish Street.
He had thought about it practically. Norish was in London. The note had said nothing specific, which meant contact was coming, and when it came, it would come to wherever Julia was. Having her in London when that happened was operationally sensible. It removed variables. It compressed the geography of the thing into something manageable.
That was the reason.
He found her in the library after breakfast, which had become her habit in the mornings when the weather kept her from the garden. She was at the window with a book she was not reading,which he recognized because it was the same book she had not been reading for two days. She looked up when he entered.
"I have been thinking about London," he said.
She waited.
"It makes more sense for us to be there." He withdrew the letter Cuthbert had sent, because having something in his hands gave the conversation the practical quality he intended. "Your father will reach out again, and when he does, I would rather be in the city than have the correspondence making the journey back and forth. It will also be easier to manage Cuthbert from there."
"Of course," she said.
"The townhouse is on Grosvenor Square. It is comfortable." He set the letter down. "You would be closer to your sister."
He said it straightforwardly, as a fact among other facts, in the same way he had mentioned Cuthbert and the townhouse and the management of correspondence. He did not add anything to it. He looked at the letter as though he were reviewing its contents, which he had already reviewed twice.
She was quiet for a moment.
"When?" she said.
"End of the week, if that suits you."
She looked at him. He met her eyes briefly, with the composure of a man who had made a practical decision for practical reasons and was ready to discuss the logistics whenever she wished.
"Yes," she said. "That suits me very well."
She looked back at her book. Something had shifted in her expression, well contained, but it was there. What he had seen was gratitude.
He picked up the letter again and left the library. He did not think about the way her expression shifted when he gave her the information and went to write to Cuthbert.
Hyde Park in the afternoon was exactly what she had not known she needed.
The grass was dry enough for the blanket Aunt Violet had thought to bring, along with a basket that contained considerably more food than four people required and a small folding table for the teacups that Georgia set up with focused efficiency.
Julia sat with her face turned toward the sun and felt, for the first time in ten days, that her shoulders were somewhere in thevicinity of her actual body rather than somewhere around her ears.
"You look better already," Poppy said.
"I feel better," Julia said, which was honest and more than she had expected to be able to say.
Aunt Violet handed her a cup and looked at her with the expression she wore when she was deciding whether to say the thing she was thinking or the softer version of it. She had always been transparent in this particular way, which Julia had always found one of her most endearing qualities.
She said the thing. "What he did, Julia. Moving to London."
