Ian didn’t answer. He was studying the room, the worn books in the shelves, the desk empty of papers, locked for the night. The office’s one window was heavily curtained, shutting out the night, the only light the coal fire which would soon die.
“They expect Mr. Fellows to haul me away to jail,” Louisa said, the words tumbling out. “They are wondering why he hasn’t already done so. I think they were hoping he’d come tonight to arrest me. Wouldn’t that have been titillating?” She gave a short laugh. “Well, they will just have to live without it. I didn’t poison Hargate, and I refuse to be condemned for it. There must be something I can do to prove my innocence.”
Ian had tilted his head back to study the ceiling. Louisa couldn’t stop herself looking up at it too. It was quite pretty, laid out in squares of molding, with filigree in the corners of the squares. Instead of being whitewashed, the wood was in its natural state, rich walnut, which made the room both dark and elegant.
Ian probably hadn’t heard a word Louisa had said. He did that sometimes, let a person babble on, not answering. In his head, he’d be working out a mathematical problem, or thinking of every word his little girl and boy had said today, or thinking about Beth and the baby she would have by autumn. This room, Louisa, the supper ball—this part of London, even—might not exist for him.
“I wish he understood,” Louisa went on, not minding that Ian didn’t answer. “If not for him, I would probably be in Newgate right now, or under house arrest. Something dreadful anyway, while men gathered evidence for my trial. But Mr. Fellows won’t stand still and talk to me. What is wrong with me, Ian, that makes him turn away or not want to be in the same room with me at all?”
Ian still didn’t answer, and Louisa had stopped expecting him to. “We are in completely different worlds, he and I, and I don’t know if we can ever cross the chasm between them. I see him at places like this, and he is so unhappy. He doesn’t want to be here.” Louisa gave another laugh. “A bit like you, Ian. Mr. Fellows doesn’t like this world; he prefers the one he made for himself. I wish he could see that his world is a good one. He does something. People like Gil are wonderful—Gil is good at making people feel happy. But he’s never had to worry about anything in his life, has he? If everything were stripped from Gil, would he be the same? I know Lloyd would be. Even if all Inspector Fellows had worked for was taken from him, he’d still walk straight through it all, come what may.”
Louisa stopped, finally running out of breath. The room had cooled with the night and dying fire. Ian sat comfortably in the darkness, the low firelight touching his face.
Louisa closed her eyes, deciding to be silent with him. She had nothing more to say, and her heart was burning.
“Mrs. Leigh-Waters,” Ian said.
Louisa popped her eyes open. Ian had turned to her, watching her. In the past Ian had had trouble looking into a person’s eyes, but tonight he was relaxed, thoughtful, and easily meeting her gaze.
Louisa blinked at him. “I beg your pardon?”
“Mrs. Leigh-Waters,” Ian repeated, as though waiting for Louisa to catch up.
“What about her?”
“You should speak to her.”
Louisa tried to remember all she’d said since she’d come in and which part Ian was responding to. “You mean I should talk to her about the garden party again?”
Ian made a slow nod. “She invited the guests.”
Louisa sat still a moment, turning his words over in her mind. What Ian said always had deeper meaning than his listener first supposed.
She invited the guests. Mrs. Leigh-Waters hadn’t asked her entire social circle to her garden party—the guest list had been fairly exclusive. Why had she invited certain people and not others?
“Hmm,” Louisa said. “I think I see what you mean.”
Ian turned his head and looked away, finished with the discussion.
“Thank you, Ian.”
A small clock on a shelf struck midnight. Outside the windows, church clocks in Mayfair and beyond took up the chime.
Ian rose, pulled out his pocket watch, checked it against the clocks, and made a minute adjustment. “I’ll go to Beth now. She will be tired.”
So that was why Ian had come in here—he was counting the minutes until he could take Beth home. Beth would have insisted on staying a polite amount of time; Ian would have insisted on an exact hour to take their leave. They always worked out their differences so beautifully.
“Tell Beth good night for me,” Louisa said.
The clocks were still chiming, and Ian didn’t wait on ceremony. He walked swiftly out of the room without a good-bye, as though he had to reach Beth before the last stroke of midnight. Ian pursuing his Cinderella.
They’d endured so much, Ian and Beth, had found each other through fire and fog. They deserved every moment of the happiness they had now.
Louisa supposed she ought to go home with them. Fellows had likely departed, and Louisa had no desire to return to the ballroom and paste a false smile on her face for a few more hours. Beth would not mind dropping Louisa at Isabella’s on the way home.
Ian had already disappeared, however, by the time Louisa had made up her mind and left the office. She found no sign of Ian in the back hall or in the corridor that led around to the front door.
The foyer was still full of people, though not the crush that had filled it when she’d entered the assembly rooms earlier tonight. Louisa didn’t see Ian or Beth there, going out, nor did she see Mr. Fellows. She did spy Daniel, who was talking with his usual animation to a knot of guests, no doubt charming them to pieces. Daniel was just nineteen now and already friends with half of England, not to mention all of Scotland and probably most of Wales.