Page 72 of The Earl’s Marriage of Convenience

She placed her hand in his.

“Lady Eliza.”

“Lord Devon.”

A footman stood beside the carriage, and Pere would arrive later, a perfectly respectable chaperone. But this was a statement. Engaged couples could promenade without chaperon, and they were making a statement.

And just like that—

It began.

Every glance.

Every word.

Every touch.

A story, unfolding in real time.

“Let us begin there,” she murmured, giving the slightest indication toward the group of dowagers.

He inclined his head in approval and guided her in that direction.

“They will be … instrumental,” she added softly, layering her smile.

“Exactly what we require,” he replied, his tone light—yet pitched low enough to remain private.

A faint warmth crept through her at the closeness of it. She ignored it.

“But truly,” he added, more quietly still, “are you well?”

There was sincerity in the question that she had not expected.

For a moment, she allowed herself to answer without performance. “I am,” she said. Then, after a beat—“And you?”

His answer came easily. “I am very well.”

It settled something in her she had not realized was unsettled.

“Then let us begin,” she said softly.

As they approached their chosen audience, Edwin slowed their pace just slightly—as though reluctant to hurry, as though the moment itself deserved to linger.

“I wish I had something amusing to say,” he murmured with a hint of self-awareness. “But I cannot think of anything suitable. Perhaps you might laugh regardless?”

Eliza did laugh—light, genuine, and just a shade louder than necessary.

It was enough. Enough to draw attention. Enough to invite curiosity.

“Even in spite of yourself,” she replied, smiling, “you are amusing, Lord Devon.”

“It is all part of my charm, Lady Eliza.”

She gave a small nod of approval.

“I trust your evening concluded well after last night’s … events?” he asked carefully.

The phrasing was deliberate—harmless to any listener, yet precise in meaning.