Soft applause filled the room. But René did not trouble himself to hear it too carefully, neither did he hear Ms. Wick’s loud praises.

A delighted smile spread across his face. He knew Leon played the pianoforte; so much Leon had told him himself. He had also heard from both Odette and Ms. Veller that his husband was far more skilled than he would ever admit.

They were right.

Every lift and drop of his hands was done with purpose. Every twitch of his shoulder and shift of his elbow moved in accord with his confidence. Leon’s fingers moved smoothly, like velvet over silk, the moment he struck the keys. Sitting beside him, every lift of a fingertip and the shift of tendons beneath skin intrigued René. The warm light in the room pooled around Leon's knuckles, and the bare skin, usually clad in white gloves, held him entirely spellbound.

The only thing that broke the spell was the soft, tender brush of their suits against one another as the final note died away.

And now, Leon was looking at him, his attention entirely upon René's face, his eyes quietly expectant.

“How was it?”

“Mesmerizing,” René breathed.

“Did you truly like it?”

“Yes. I would like to hear you play at home, too.”

Leon blinked hard once. His scent flickered warm through his fingertips, and René felt it the instant Leon reached out and captured his hand on the bench. René’s shoulders tremored ever so slightly at the touch.

The soft harp of the small ensemble gave way to a fresh melody, and music resumed across the drawing room, softening the surrounding chatter. Leon’s eyes remained on René, their hands clasped between them as the subdued mix of their scents filled the narrow space between them.

It smelled almost inviting. Enticing, even.

“I would like,” Leon whispered, leaning in just close enough for René to hear, “if you wish, to sit beside you while you draw at home.”

René held his gaze. “Of course…”

“Ah, Leon,” Ms. Wick approached delightedly, accompanied by an older gentleman. “A formidable performance as always.”

They rose, leaving the piano bench behind to meet Ms. Wick and her companion.

“I believe you already know Judge Sterling. And this is Mr. René Meren, Leon’s husband.”

Judge Sterling offered René his hand. “Good evening, Mr. Meren. I am very pleased to meet you.”

René shook it gracefully. “Good evening, Judge Sterling. The pleasure is mine.”

“I do hope you have not forgotten me.” The judge turned to Leon. “Your mother and I are very well acquainted.”

“Judge Sterling.” Leon took his hand in turn. “I am embarrassed to admit that I do not remember your company at our home very well. You visited us only during my younger years.”

“Do not be embarrassed, young man.” Judge Sterling’s eyes crinkled as he laughed. “I remember your mother and father chasing you through the entire house whenever I called.”

Ms. Wick turned to René. “I sometimes wonder myself how he even remembers me. He was never in the house when I visited, though I always extended my stays.”

“Still riding as vigorously as before?” Judge Sterling inquired.

“I try,” Leon offered. “I must outdo my brother.”

René tightened his grip on Leon’s arm at the mention of Leon’s brother. Leon drew René closer, squeezing his hand firmly against his side.

“If my memory serves, he was always the finer rider of the Meren siblings. I see you are not ready to let your brother keep that title.”

“I believe it was you, Judge, who told me when I was younger that one ought to try despite the fall—and that there is a way out of even the deepest pits.”

“Hahaha, now I feel deceived! You remember me far better than you let on.”

“I would not lie to you, Judge. I simply recall good advice and intelligent conversation.”

Ms. Wick gave a quick, playful wave of her hand. “Oh, Leon. Do you also wish to be a captain? Why are you pouring milk and honey over Judge Sterling?” She chuckled softly. “You could take Anton’s old title in Wellkron and inherit the summer estate. I am sure Judge Sterling could put in a word for you as well.”

“Oh, no. I have no wish to live in Wellkron. René and I are very happy in Langrer.”

“When shall Major Meren return?” René managed to murmur, interjecting.

Judge Sterling’s eyes shifted slowly from Leon to René. His gaze held no surprise, only a cool tone as he assessed René.

“Next year,” Judge Sterling replied smoothly, his tone unreadable. “When his presence is deemed... suitable.”

A brief, heavy pause hung in the air.

“Have you been conversing with him much, Leon?” Ms. Wick inquired, her brow furrowing. “He does not write to me as often as I write to him. The rumors regarding his duties there have been rather fragmented.”

“Ms. Wick,” Leon turned to her smoothly, “he is a busy man. He barely responds to Mama’s letters.”

“Oh, then never mind.” She theatrically crossed her arms. “Let us play whist. René, do you know how to play?”

“I do know how to play,” René offered politely, “but I am afraid I do not have much luck at cards.”

“Nonsense.” She waved him off, already signaling a servant for the table. “You shall play with me then. I have enough luck for the both of us.”

René glanced at Leon, catching the faint, amused ghost of a smile on his husband's lips before turning back to Ms. Wick. “Then I suppose I have no choice but to trust your luck, Ms. Wick.”

꧁༺ 𓆩✧𓆪 ─── ⚜ ─── 𓆩✧𓆪 ༻꧂ 

A while later, the gathering began to thin. Helena and Clara retired early to their bedchamber, while Mrs. and Miss Doyle were among the last to depart. Ms. Wick was still conversing with them when Leon and René finally left for their own guest room.

Leon led the way, carrying a candle as they went upstairs.

The realization that they were to share a bed came to René with the first step.

He had always known that one day they would. It would have been almost ludicrous to suppose otherwise. They were married, after all. Still, something in the quiet between them, and in Leon saying nothing as they made their way through the darkened corridors, sent a small shiver down René’s back.

They entered the room.

René’s sketchbook was still lying upon the bed where he had carelessly tossed it earlier, in his hurry to return to the gathering. Leon set the candle upon the dresser near the door and crossed toward the bed, loosening his cravat as he went.

He picked up the sketchbook and placed it gently upon the left bedside table.

René went to the other side of the bed, which Leon appeared to have left for him. For a moment, neither of them did anything.