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"Lord Ashby rarely expresses gratitude for corrections that do not originate with himself."

"Indeed, he does not." Julian turned his head to look at her, the moonlight highlighting the silver at his temples. "You speak as though you hold personal acquaintance with him."

"I attended a country assembly in Kent where he spoke for forty minutes regarding land drainage reform," she explained. "I was nineteen at the time, and the experience proved memorable."

Julian's mouth curved into a genuine smile. "Land drainage reform."

"Do not scoff. Proper drainage remains a vital concern for tenant farmers."

"I am not scoffing; I am thoroughly impressed by your agricultural knowledge."

"You are laughing with your eyes."

"I cannot help how my eyes express themselves."

Adelaide met his gaze. The humor in his expression was genuine, accompanied by a deeper warmth that prompted her to close the small distance between them on the sofa.

She held her position.

An easy quiet settled between them once more as the moonlight shifted across the carpet. Somewhere within the house, a longcase clock chimed eleven times.

Adelaide's thoughts drifted to the quiet hallway upstairs—to the locked suite at the far end of the east wing containing silk dresses, half-finished embroidery, and the miniature portrait of a fair-haired woman with blue-gray eyes.

Helena.

Adelaide had considered the matter carefully for days. Thomas remained a subject far too painful to touch; Julian flinched from his late brother's memory as though confronting an open wound. Yet Helena was different; she had chosen to depart England. Her absence represented a deep sorrow, surely, but not the devastating grief that left a man staring into the dark throughout the night.

Perhaps Helena was a subject they could address together.

"Julian."

"Yes?"

"I discovered your sister's suite."

The words fell into the quiet room with a sudden, heavy weight.

Julian stilled completely. The warmth vanished from his features as though a curtain had been drawn over his face. His jaw set into a rigid line, and his eyes, soft with humor moments before, turned cold and distant.

"Which room?" he said, his voice flat and unyielding.

"The suite at the end of the east wing, past the bend in the hallway." Adelaide kept her voice gentle and soft. "Mrs. Rutherford had left it unlocked. I intended no intrusion; I only⁠—"

"You found it."

"Yes."

A long, suffocating silence stretched between them. Julian stared out the window at the moonlit gardens, his profile carved in hard, unyielding lines. The clock in the hall measured the passage of seconds, each one heavier than the last.

When he finally turned to face her, his expression held no trace of warmth.

"My relationship with Helena is a strictly private matter." Each word was clipped, controlled, and delivered with absolute finality. "I ask you to respect that. Please do not raise the subject again."

Adelaide's lips parted to speak, yet no words came.

She offered a silent nod.

Julian rose from the sofa, retrieved his coat from the armchair, and draped it over his shoulder in a single, efficient motion. He did not look back at her.