Dinner was finally over, and I felt exhausted from the polite conversation and meaningful glances exchanged across the table. Arthur had been surprisingly civil throughout the meal, though his eyes had rarely left me.
As I helped his grandmother back to her room, the old woman patted my hand affectionately. "You did well tonight, dear. Arthur seemed pleased."
I smiled weakly. "I'm glad."
Once Mrs. Sterling was settled for the night, I retreated to the garden with Max. The cool evening air was a welcome relief after the tension of dinner. Max bounded ahead, chasing shadows through the manicured lawn while I trailed behind, lost in thought.
"Mrs. Sterling."
I turned to find Philip Mercer standing a few feet away, his expression as impassive as ever.
"Mr. Mercer," I acknowledged. "Is everything alright?"
He approached slowly, hands clasped behind his back. "May I ask you something personal?"
That was unexpected. "I suppose."
"What's your ideal type of man?"
