Emblyn reminded her each time she was interrogated that she did not know her brother’s heart, and that her brother was the very definition of stubborn. His forgiveness would surely come, but it might wait a while.

That was no comfort for Adelaide.

She had sat beside Richard’s bedside this morning, part of which he had been awake for, and they had chatted with true clarity. He had sympathy for her and begged her not to judge Basset too harshly for his prejudice.

“It is well-founded, sister,” he had said, warming her heart with his calling her that. “With time, he will see that I am truly changed this time.”

He had not been much good for conversation in the few minutes following, drifting back to sleep with the help of the willow bark tea. He had not raised a fever in two days, which was a promising sign, though he was still very weak.

Emblyn only came in during his sleep now, and Adelaide still had not told Richard about her. He had not asked after the others tending him, no doubt thinking it to all be the work of servants. She was pleased to let that misconception continue, as was Emblyn.

So long as it was Emblyn’s wish to remain secret from him, Adelaide would keep it.

Basset House had grown intolerable, so it was a blessing that she was able to procure an invitation to a ball at her aunt’s home. Anna had been delighted to receive her for the family dinner prior to it, and they had talked for ages, just as they had done before her marriage.

Only her feelings for Basset had been quite different then, and though she had written to Anna regularly about all of it, she still took some convincing over it in person.

Not that there was much to say. Or much that was easy to say. Or that there were words for what she needed to say.

What she needed to admit.

The truth was… there were no words.

Only feelings.

Feelings that shifted and turned and became nearly unrecognizable.

At the present, standing in a ballroom she knew well but could not now dance in, she was filled with an overwhelming melancholy, as well as a tender longing for her husband.

Not for his attentions or his arms, his words or his wit, but simply the sight of him. His presence in the same air she breathed. Perhaps even a glimpse of his famous smile that never fully manifested.

Though his full smile was a wondrous thing, it was that slight one she adored the most.

For it was entirely and utterly Basset.

And she perhaps missed that most of all.

“You have never looked so morose in your entire life.”