"There's been a mix-up," said Eleanor, at the top of the stairs.
She was carrying an armful of folded towels, and she did not look the least bit apologetic. Beside her, a maid held two suitcases, wearing the expression of someone who had been told to say nothing.
"The east wing is being repainted. Terribly inconvenient. Your father insisted on doing it this week. And of course, with a houseful of guests..."
"What guests?" said Alexander.
"Your uncle Henry. And two cousins. And a great-aunt who must be near a bathroom." Eleanor smiled sweetly. "I have only the one room free. It's a big bed. You won't mind."
"Mother," said Alexander, in the tone of a man who has seen through a plot and is too well bred to say so.
"Darling, you are engaged. It is hardly scandalous."
"We would prefer—"
"I know exactly what you would prefer." Eleanor patted his arm and swept away down the corridor, calling over her shoulder, "Dinner is at seven!"
Lily stared at the door.
It was a large, pleasant room at the end of the hall, with a window seat overlooking the lake and a great carved bed hung with pale curtains. A log fire was crackling in the grate. A single set of towels had been laid out.
"I can sleep in the library," said Alexander.
"Your mother will notice."
"Then the floor."
"You can't sleep on the floor."
"I assure you, I can sleep anywhere." He ran a hand through his hair, which was already ruffled. "It is a poor idea. I am sorry."
"It's not your fault." She set her bag on the chair. "We are professionals. We can manage one night."
"Two weeks, if my mother has her way."
"Then we will manage two weeks."
That night, she lay on one edge of the enormous bed, rigid as a plank, with a bolster pillow between them like a fortress wall. He lay on the other edge, his back to her. The fire popped. The curtains stirred. Neither of them said a word for a long time.
She was sure he was awake. His breathing was too even.
"Alexander," she said into the dark.
"Yes?"
"Can I ask you something?"
"You may."
"Why don't you want to marry anyone?"
For a long time, there was no answer. She thought he might not respond.
"I've never really thought about marriage," he said. "Not because I'm against it. I just haven't met anyone who made me want it badly enough to change my mind."
Lily studied him. "Not even once?"
He shook his head. "I've met women I liked. Women I enjoyed spending time with. But liking someone and wanting to spend the rest of your life with them are two very different things."
"And you've never wanted that?"
"Not until now, maybe." His gaze lingered on hers for a moment before he looked away. "I don't know. Maybe I just haven't met the right person. Or maybe I've been too comfortable with the way my life is to make room for someone else."
Lily's expression softened. "That sounds lonely."
"Does it?" He gave a faint smile. "I've never really thought of it that way."
Lily's throat tightened.
"It's easier not to be hurt if no one gets close."
"That's not living."
"No." His voice was low and rough. "But it is safe."
She lay quiet, thinking of a locked pantry and a cold shed, and the quiet hardness she had built inside herself for protection. She knew exactly what safe cost.
Sometime after midnight, he began to mutter in his sleep. His hands twitched against the sheets. She rose on one elbow and saw his face, tense and frowning, his lips moving around a word she could not catch.
She did not think. She reached across the bolster and laid her hand on his arm, and began, very softly, to hum, the old tune Martha had hummed over her own bad dreams.
His breathing slowed. The frown eased from his forehead.
When she woke at dawn, the bolster had been pushed aside in the night. Her hand was resting on his chest. His arm lay across her waist.
And the door was wide open, with Julian standing in the frame, grinning.