The Duchess of Kent drew in a breath so slight it was almost imperceptible.
The movement was very small, yet Arthur still caught it.
She made no sound, but she stood a little straighter.
She still wanted to wait—wait for Conroy to squeeze out a proposal, a word, even a vague opening line.
The kind of tactful phrasing that could be turned into "The Princess is young" and "Affairs of state are manifold," the same words countless regents in history had used to ascend to power.
But Conroy still did not speak.
His gaze kept skirting away from Arthur.
Because he knew Arthur had been watching him all along.
Conroy withdrew without a sound.
Yet all that had just unfolded before her eyes was enough for the Duchess of Kent to understand—this time, Conroy could not help her.
The atmosphere in the drawing room once more fell into a brief stillness, like the pendulum of a tightly wound Clock suspended in midair, never to swing again.
A few soft footsteps came from the doorway.
