"What did she say?"
Mare turned, securing her coat over her gown as Teddy descended the parlor stairway. He stopped several feet from her, as though proximity would prove damning to the unwelcome eye. Mare supposed it would.
"She will be all right," Mare said simply, "so long as you and I stay away from one another, that is." Mare looked him over, and was pleased to feel nothing in her blood but tiredness and a dwindling spark of regret. "Shouldn't be terribly difficult, should it?" She turned toward the door.
"Mare."
"Mr. Bridge." She looked back and he'd drawn closer, brow furrowed, lips pressed tight.
"It can be...difficult to discern...feelings." He shook his head, squeezed his eyes shut. When he opened them again, his cheeks were clearly rosy, even in the dim light of the foyer. "We are told what to want and what to do for so long...I don't think we know what to do with true feelings when we come across them."
Mare stared at him. He could not mean what she thought. He could not say what he meant. Mare was sober as a priest, but she felt weightless and unmoored at once, and her heart began to beat out of time. "You mean...your feelings for Lilith."
"Of course." Teddy looked stricken, then, as if she'd slapped him. "Yes, I mean Lilith. And I mean...you."
Now Mare's heart halted in her chest.
"And Camden! And...Geoffrey, I suppose." Teddy's cheeks brightened. "I would never. I could never—"
"Teddy," Mare laughed, relieved and only slightly stung, raising a hand to quiet him. "Please."
He gazed at her pensively, his eyes warmly lucid. "What happened was a result, I think, of the moment. And nothing more."
Mare felt the speed of her heart falter and the pleasure in the back of her mind dissolve. She realized it was unnecessary to remind him that both of them were spoken for, as he'd just declared there was nothing between them. Mare was inclined to believe this. After all, she'd never felt much more for Theodore Bridge than irritation or curiosity. Not when she'd met him on the road in the rain, or when he'd danced with her at the ball, or even when he'd stood by the white pavilion, drenched in sunlight and the sweet cloying scent of star jasmine, Shakespeare on his tongue.
Now Mare's cheeks warmed, as an alien and foolish thought rose in her mind. Staring at Theodore Bridge in the Renaissance light of the foyer, she forced it away. Teddy merely watched, his expression thoughtful.
She struck up the courage to speak, selecting her words carefully. "Camden and I are...well- matched, though it may not be obvious." She reminded herself of Teddy's black-eyed cousin, the blade of his wit, the darkness of his heart, and the depth of their letters. No matter what she thought or, foolishly, felt, Camden Doores was Mare's future as much as he was her past. "I think you will find we're quite happy."
"Of course." Teddy's brows rose. "I did not mean to imply otherwise."
"Certainly." Mare hugged her coat to herself, though the breeze drifting through the ajar front door was balmy and rich. "And you and Lilith are much the same. We will all be very happy."
"You nearly sound as though you are convincing yourself."
Mare stared hard at Theodore Bridge, and was almost relieved to discover that mischievous, sharp challenge had returned to him in posture and gaze, and watched in wait, daring Mare to answer.
But she could no longer play his games, and was disinterested in playing along with Camden's and Geoffrey's as well. Not if it would cost her her sanity, her dignity; her friends. And that's what Lilith was, after all, and Alison and Miss Cressida.
And no matter how tempting it was.
"I find I am quite convinced, Mr. Bridge." Mare pulled her coat tight, inclined her head, and turned toward the door. "Goodnight."
"Goodnight, Ms. Atwood."
And for once, Mare wished he'd called her by her name.