*Everly*
We eat in the sitting room that looks out on the garden. I had my father’s portrait removed earlier. I will have it returned tomorrow. But for tonight I wanted the intimacy of a smaller room. The dining room is too large, too formal, too cold.
Candles flickers. Servants bring in the food, one course after another. I barely touch anything, and am aware of his constant gaze. Whether he is eating or sipping on his wine, he is looking at me.
I had clung to a vain gossamer hope that things between us would not progress, that I might become more of a companion than a mistress. Talking of inconsequential topics over dinner, reading to him as he had asked that first morning. But the extent to which I am already in his debt astounds me. I had given no thought to the small things.
“That
