Page 61 of Apt to be Suspicious
Pen blinked. “They both work.” It didn’t quite come out as a question, but she was rearranging assumptions. “All right. But surely they expect you to marry in a particular way? And whatever you do that isn’t that has to be, I don’t know. Quiet. Hidden.”
He snorted. “Yes, if by particular way, you mean someone I love. Also, someone I feel will understand my commitments to the land magic— and to Ytene, in particular— and so on. But who that is, there’s more flexibility than there would have been a generation or two ago. You went to Schola. That’s a help, mind.”
“You can’t mean you’re interested in me.” Pen said it straight out. “It’s, it’s not logical. Nothing about that adds up.”
Now, Edmund raised an eyebrow. “May I join you on the sofa?”
It was his sofa. Pen would not tell him no. And whatever he had in mind, well, logic told her he’d be civilised about it. For what good logic was right now. She nodded, not sure what to say, then when he didn’t move, she managed a quiet reply. “Yes, if you’d prefer.”
“I do.” As soon as he’d spoken, he stood smoothly, pivoting to join her on the sofa. He wasn’t quite touching her, but now he was close enough she could feel his magic brush against hers, the shift of the rug under his shoe. Once he was settled, he cleared his throat. “Now, may I begin to enumerate your virtues, as I see them?”
It wasn’t as though she could stop him. Pen nodded, though she found looking at her hands easier. Again, he stayed quiet until she spoke. “If you wish.”
“First, you are clever. Don’t bother arguing you aren’t, given how Uncle Giles and Aunt Cammie responded to your ideas. Also, your crossword ability.” She couldn’t argue, so she managed a little nod. “Second, you are sensible. You think about the consequences of your choices in a way that’s deliberate. I find that exceedingly attractive, actually. Third, you commit to the things you choose. That is also rather rare. Fourth, Uncle Alexander does not seem to terrify you. That puts you in a tiny group. Certainly a requirement on my part for anyone I’d consider walking out with, never mind anything further.”
This, or at least the way his tone of voice threaded between teasing and blatant affection, made her look up. “You care about him that much?”
“Oh, yes. He’s always taken me seriously. Not that Mama and Papa don’t, but they’re obliged to, don’t you see? Uncle Alexander chose to, and that turns out to make a great deal of difference sometimes. I have so much more I want to learn from him.” There was a hint there of some sort of shadow, but Pen didn’t think it was about his uncle.
“All right. And no, he doesn’t scare me. He’s been very polite. Though I gather he, um. Intimidates many people?” Pen tried to figure out how to put that into words.
“He does. Deliberately. I’d be glad to arrange a chance for you to get to know him better. And vice versa. I’ll tell you now, he has a solid understanding of cryptography, but you’re better at it.” Edmund shrugged.
Then, while she was looking at his face, he went on. “Fifth, though by no means fifth in importance, you’re lovely. Don’t argue with me, not yet at least. You’re not a stunning beauty, the kind that gets shown off in magazines. But I adore watching you. You’re clear on who you are, you dress in a way that suits you. I have given a few moments to wondering what you’d look like with your hair down. Or—” His voice dropped in pitch and volume. “Other things. Only so far, of course, I’d not want to be rude.”
Pen’s mouth opened, then closed. Now she was certain she looked like a fish, and that was not remotely attractive. “You can’t mean it. Thinking about me like that.”
There were three heartbeats of hesitation. “If you gave me permission to take your hand and place your palm somewhere intimate, you could feel for yourself.” Edmund made the sentence go together in absurd grammatical perfection, so much so that it took a moment for Pen to realise what he’d said. Her eyes immediately dropped to his lap, though the way his jumper lay obscured whatever was there visually. “May I?” His voice had the same smooth evenness, tinged with hope.
Silently, she held out her hand, and he took it. His fingers were gentle but deliberate, drawing her hand toward his lap, then down, letting her close the last bit of distance herself. His care about that sent a shiver through her. The kind that made her clench her jaw before she forced herself to swallow, breathe, and move her hand the last fraction of an inch.
Pen could feel him, the way she’d felt a man a few times before. Men might be quite eager for many reasons, but this was a particular truth, in context. The details might need decoding, but the message was there. She let her hand soften a little against him, and felt him shift a little. Nothing crude, nothing demanding, but it was like a cat or a dog settling in, confident of being petted the proper way.
Pen could not look up at his face, and she couldn’t look at where her hand was, either. Instead, she found herself looking at the knitting along his chest, quite small and tidy stitches. Into the quiet, Edmund went on, his voice catching at the beginning. “Mmm. I am enjoying this a great deal, so you know. Most of all, when I think of you, I like how I feel with you. Comfortable. Excited. Like I’ll never be bored, but also as if we can be quiet together.”
Pen swallowed, even less sure what to do with that information. Finally, warily, she looked at his face. What she saw there confused her even more, like she was deciphering something in a completely unknown language. There was vulnerability there, an openness she hadn’t expected from him. He was choosing to be that way with her, rather than all the show of perfection he gave to everyone else.
Slowly, she drew her hand away, pulling it back to her lap. She watched his expression shift, his eyes closed for a long moment, and he took a breath. Before he opened his eyes, he spoke again. “New information. I won’t ask you to choose anything about it just yet.”
“What....” Pen swallowed hard. “What are my choices? I mean, what are you offering?”
“That depends on what you are willing to consider. I would like very much to see how we get on together. To court you, in whatever ways you might find agreeable. We needn’t rush about it. There’s no sense in my marrying before I finish my degree. It would complicate some things. But that simply gives us time to decide how we want to do things.” Two years and a month or two. Greats was a four-year course.
“And what does courting look like to you?” Pen wasn’t sure what she thought of it, but he was at least forthcoming with information.
“Time together, in ways that do not put you at risk with your college. We’ve privacy here if we can sort out some hours. Over the hols, as well. I’ll be away for six weeks in the long vac, but home at the other times.” Pen had that fleeting memory of annoyance at realising he was going to travel, and now she didn’t know what she felt about it. Except that she’d miss seeing him, that was clear. He went on firmly. “And we’ve other options, if being at Ytene and around Mama and Papa and Uncle Alexander would be too much. At least one of my sisters, too.”
That might, in fact, make her too nervous to enjoy much of anything. “And what might we do in private?”
“That is for you to choose. Though I believe I’ve made my general interests clear. If that’s the sort of thing you’d prefer to save for marriage, I’d understand. I’ve certainly experience tending to my own body, as needed.” He kept his voice even, but she could see him twitch slightly toward her, another unguarded movement, before he looked at her, deliberately focusing on her eyes.
“Have you, I mean.” Pen swallowed. “I walked out with a few men, but we had no privacy at all. So, the sorts of things that creative people can arrange with a blanket and a reasonably remote field. Clothes on, and such. Nothing that lasted more than half a year or so.”
It had meant quite a bit with fingers and hands and mouths, but nothing that was quieter and more intimate in the ways she’d really wanted. On the other hand, it had meant she hadn’t had to decide how much of Grandfather’s morals around sexuality she was going to go against when it came to the more specific steps. Then her eyes widened. “Wait. Why are you good with babies?”
It was a good thing she was watching him, because she’d never have figured out his expression from his voice. First, he smiled, his eyes crinkling up in pure and unguarded amusement. “Ah. You saw me with Kenna, then.”
“Cammie said you’d never explained to anyone why you’re good with children. You’d— that’s the kind of thing you’d tell me. If I mean. If, courting.” The last bit was stammered. Here she was, accusing him of having hidden children. On one hand, it would be another explanation for his unreasonable kindness to Circe. She didn’t actually think that was the cause, but now the idea was in her head, shouting at her.
