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him to say something, anything so she could hear his voice one more time. She wanted to hear him say something other than the details surrounding a gruesome death. He’d spoken briefly about finding a wife; though he had said it so casually he could have been talking about how he was searching for a good sturdy traveling carriage.
    She knew that most of their class did not marry for love; it simply wasn’t done in polite Society. People married to increase property or pay off debt or merge businesses. But love simply wasn’t a part of the equation. It certainly hadn’t been a part of her own parents’ marriage. Though they’d always been civil to one another, it never seemed as though there had never been love between them. Admittedly, her mother had never been particularly warm to anyone, though she had always appeared to favor her oldest daughters.
    She couldn’t help but wonder now if her sisters had married for love. Mia knew they had both married. Rachel had read the notices in the newspaper to her. Each of them had married their first year in Society. Both had married quite well. Cleo had married a viscount and Fran had snagged herself an earl. Certainly those accomplishments had made their mother proud.
    A feat Mia knew she’d never be able to do and not simply because her mother was now deceased. No matter what, she doubted her mother would have ever approved of Mia’s choices. Thoughts like those would solve nothing, so she forced her mind to something else. Namely the man in the room with her.
    Mia didn’t know if she should stand to leave or not so she simply stayed where she was. It was odd, this feeling of not wanting to leave. She did not know him, nor had he been exceptionally kind to her, still the conversation had soothed her unsettled nerves. His reminder that she couldn’t have done anything hadn’t been said to make her feel better or to give her any measure of peace, but was simply a matter-of-fact truth he shared. Still it had given her some measure of comfort and for that she would always be grateful.
    “You mentioned earlier that you didn’t come right away because you were busy with something—may I inquire as to what was so important?” he asked as if he sensed she needed additional conversation.
    “I was in the middle of a sculpture and I simply can’t walk away at certain stages of the process,” she explained.
    “You sculpt?” he asked, his tone doing very little to hide his surprise. She could almost see, in her mind, raised eyebrows, parted lips and a widening of the eyes.
    “I do. I’ve sold my work to a handful of people around London, though it’s very slow business. Right now I can only find customers by recommendation because I haven’t found a shop willing to carry my pieces. But I keep working and hope that I’ll find the right person.”
    “I see,” he said. But he added nothing to indicate what he thought of her chosen field. It was odd enough for a woman of her station to be pursuing any profession, yet alone one of an artistic nature. She waited to hear the disapproval in his voice, but was surprised that it didn’t come.
    He came to his feet, the chair creaked as his weight lifted. “I suppose that shall be all,” he said, clearly dismissing her as he would a servant.
    She was used to the dismissive attitude of others, though she gave him credit that he spoke to her at all, and not as if she were a simpleton, but as if she were his intellectual equal. The combination was intriguing enough that she longed to speak with him again.
    How many more ways could he surprise her? What a pity that she would likely never know.
    ***
    “Alexander,” his mother said as he entered the dining room.
    “Mother, you are looking well.” He bent to kiss her cheek as he’d been taught to do since he was but a boy. It was customary for them to share breakfast one morning a week. The other mornings the Lady Carrington broke her fast in her bedchamber after sleeping half