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Chapter Five

Blaire

Somewhere over the past few weeks, Ross has become part of the rhythm of my workday.

I know the measured sound of his footsteps in the corridor before he reaches the library. I can pick his voice out from the low conversation outside the archive rooms, and sometimes I hear it through an open window when he crosses the garden with someone from the family office. There are days when he appears beside my table for ten minutes and others when he stays for nearly an hour, but I’ve stopped wondering whether I’ll see him.

Now I notice when I don’t.

It’s a dangerous habit, particularly because being around him has become easier. The sharpness of our earliest conversations has softened into something more familiar. We disagree without turning everything into a contest. He remembers things I mention in passing. I know when the slight narrowing of his eyes means he thinks I’m wrong and when it means he’s trying not to laugh. Somewhere along the way, we’ve accumulated enough small references between us that an ordinary comment can make one of us smile while everyone else in the room continues working. I tell myself none of that means anything.

***

By Friday afternoon, the weather gives me something else to concentrate on. Rain has been moving across London since morning, but sometime after four, the sky beyond the library windows darkens until the gardens look almost blue beneath it. Water runs in sheets down the glass, and the wind drives hard enough against the old panes that Amelia finally looks up from the inventory sheets beside me.

“I’m leaving before this gets worse,” she says as she closes her laptop.

“Margaret already told everyone not to be heroic.”

“I’m not planning to be heroic,” I tell her.

“I just need another half hour.”

Amelia looks toward the windows.

“That is exactly what someone says before spending three hours stranded at work.”

I smile as I straighten the notes beside my computer.

“I have to send the weekly progress report tonight. Half the figures changed after yesterday’s review, and I don’t want to spend Saturday fixing it.”

“Fine,” Amelia replies as she reaches for her coat.

“But if you’re still sitting here when the Thames reaches the front steps, I’m not coming back for you.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

She laughs, says good night, and joins the last few members of the team heading toward the main hall.

Within twenty minutes, the library feels entirely different. The usual movement between the tables disappears, the archive doors are closed, and the only sounds left are the rain striking the windows and the occasional low roll of thunder beyond the estate.

I turn back to the report and keep working. At least, I do until I hear footsteps in the corridor. I know who they belong to before he reaches the door.

Ross enters carrying his suit jacket over one arm, his tie loosened at the collar. He stops when he sees me still sitting at the central table.

“You’re still here,” he says.

“So are you.”

His eyes move briefly toward the windows, where another burst of rain rattles hard against the glass. “Most of the staff left half an hour ago.”

“I noticed.”

“Were you planning to join them?”

“As soon as I finish this.”

Ross walks closer and glances at my laptop.