“You have brought more order in three days than I managed in three months,” he said.
Catherine glanced at him with a dry smile.
“You give me too much credit,” she said. “Your staff knows their duties well. I have only offered direction where needed.”
Marcus chuckled.
“Direction, yes—but also respect. They serve more willingly because you treat them as people, not machinery.”
Her expression softened.
“It seemed natural to do so,” she said. “I was a dependent for much of my life. One learns to value those who take their work seriously.”
He looked at her and understood with fresh clarity what she had accomplished. This was no grand gesture, no dramatic moment. Yet the harmony she fostered throughout the household would remain long after lectures and discussions had concluded.
As she moved to consult a delivery ledger, Marcus stood still, silently grateful that the woman he had married to fulfil a practical requirement had turned out to be capable of making the entire house feel, at last, like a working, functioning home.
Catherine then turned to a waiting footman.
“Please let Mrs Godfrey know we will require three more candles for the sideboard, and that I should like the hothouse blooms arranged by tomorrow afternoon,” she said.
The footman bowed.
“Yes, my lady,” he said. The servant departed. Catherine resumed her seat at the desk, adjusting a pile of correspondence with a neat efficiency Marcus found unexpectedly stirring.
He took his chair beside her.
“May I offer some assistance?” he asked.
She smiled up at him with surprised warmth.
“That would be wonderful,” she said.
They worked for a time in companionable quiet, reviewing dietary preferences and verifying carriage times for those arriving from London. After some time, Catherine rose to fetch a ledger from the shelf behind them. When she returned, she reached past him to place it on the desk. Her fingers brushed his hand. Neither of them moved, but the surprise Marcus felt was reflected in the eyes of his bride. The contact was fleeting, barely a breath of skin, yet it thrummed through Marcus with all the force of a thunderclap.
Catherine had paused mid-motion. Her hand still hovered just above his. Her eyes met his across the narrow distance.
For a moment, nothing existed but that shared glance and the silent current passing between them.
He did not speak.
The air had changed, and it seemed that they both felt it. Her lips parted, though no sound emerged. Marcus felt the pull of her presence, of her nearness, and the sudden, dizzying urge to close that remaining distance.
Catherine withdrew first. She turned back to the desk, fingers adjusting the corner of a page that did not need straightening.
Marcus cleared his throat.
“You said the Whitmore siblings are expected on Friday?” he asked, cursing the crack in his voice when he spoke.
Catherine gave him a nod, giving no indication she had heard the disquiet.
“Yes,” she said. “They are quite reserved, so I placed them next to Reverend Brown, rather than the other gentlemen.”
He nodded, grateful for her composure when his own had not quite returned. Her steadiness grounded him.
Mrs Thornberry entered, bearing a tray of tea and a small plate of buttered scones.
“Pray forgive the interruption,” she said. “I thought you might welcome something warm.”
