Perhaps it was because Oliver knew what the stakes were. He’d caught a glimpse of Titus Fairfield in the back rows of the hall. Perhaps it was because at the moment, Oliver could not dredge up the least interest in what Sebastian was saying about peas and snapdragons and the color of cats. Perhaps it was because Jane wasn’t here, but she was close. In a room nearby. So close that the yards between them seemed to whisper of all the things they hadn’t done, the kisses they hadn’t exchanged, the months they hadn’t spent in bed. No. Not the time to think of that. He peered at Sebastian and tried to pretend interest. Sebastian had always been in his element talking to a crowd. He gestured as he talked. But today, it seemed different. His gestures were too wide, almost wild. As if he’d lost his balance and was trying to regain it. Next to Oliver, Violet Waterfield, the Countess of Cambury, leaned forward, and Oliver glanced at her. He’d never known Violet the way Robert and Sebastian had.
