still facing the mirror, hands frozen mid-motion That was unnecessary.

Was it? steps further into the room The carriage has been waiting a quarter of an hour. My mother has been waiting a quarter of an hour. Society—as you well know—waits for no one.

meets his eyes in the glass, a flicker of something defiant beneath the weariness Then by all means, leave without me. I am certain the ton would enjoy the scandal.

jaw tightens You know I cannot do that.

turns slowly, hand drifting to the loose sleeve Then you will wait. As I am waiting for this sleeve to be sewn, and my hair to be pinned, and my composure to return.

studies her Your composure.

a faint, bitter smile Yes. It has a habit of escaping me in your presence.