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A silence followed before Julian answered—his tone stripped of every polished nuance Adelaide recognized.

"It remains useless, Danvers. You know the remedy fails. I simply require air away from this house."

The heavy front door swung open, and a rush of cool night air swept up the stairwell, carrying the scent of rain and damp stone from the street. The door closed with a firm, metallic click.

Adelaide stood motionless on the landing, her fingers aching against the polished wood of the banister. She waited until the latch sound faded completely before descending the remaining steps.

Mr. Danvers stood alone at the center of the entry hall. His posture remained immaculate, the single gas lamp near the entrance highlighting his silver hair as he held his hands clasped behind his back.

"Mr. Danvers."

The butler turned toward her. "Your Grace," he inclined his head respectfully. "I trust you were not disturbed."

"Is everything in order?"

"Indeed, Your Grace."

Adelaide might have accepted the answer at another hour, yet the brandy soaking into the rug upstairs and the front door closing behind her husband prevented her from letting the matter rest.

"Was that the duke who just departed?"

Mr. Danvers did not answer immediately, his gaze dropping from hers. He shifted his weight slightly before bringing his hands forward, his gloved fingers interlacing at his waist as he studied them in silence.

The quiet stretched between them. The longcase clock in the hallway measured each second with distinct weight as the house stood still around them.

When Mr. Danvers looked up, a heavy reluctance showed behind his professional bearing.

"His Grace rarely sleeps at Ravensmere House," he revealed.

Adelaide stared at him with a frown. He held her gaze briefly before bowing and retreating down the servants' passage.

Adelaide stood alone in the foyer as the gas lamp flickered. The clock ticked, and beyond the heavy front door, her husband walked the dark London streets alone.

Pressing her hand flat against the cold marble wall, her fingers trembled. She drew them back, clenching them into fists at her sides as she forced her thoughts into order.

Rarely sleeps at Ravensmere House.

The realization applied not merely to tonight, but to every night she had spent in her bedchamber believing him asleep on the other side of the adjoining door.

She recalled the dark hollows beneath his eyes, the fatigue he masked with quick wit, and the mornings he appeared at breakfast fully dressed and composed, having returned from what she had assumed were early rides in the park.

She had failed to see the truth.

Ascending the staircase slowly, her bare feet made no sound against the carpeted steps. She passed the gallery with its covered portraits and returned to the residential wing.

The adjoining door remained open. Beyond it, Julian's room stood unchanged: the candle on the desk burning low, the dark brandy stain spreading across the rug, and the shattered glass gleaming on the floorboards.

Approaching the side table, she righted the decanter, which retained a third of its spirits. Setting it down carefully, she kneeled to collect the broken glass, wrapping the shards in a linen handkerchief retrieved from his dressing table drawer.

Returning to her own chamber, she closed the adjoining door and sat on the edge of the mattress.

She refrained from questioning Mr. Danvers further, recognizing the burden the disclosure had placed upon his loyalty.

She would address Julian upon his return—when morning light softened the turmoil that drove him into the night. She would sit beside him and ask plainly what burden prevented him from finding rest beneath his own roof.

Perhaps he would trust her enough to offer an answer.

Adelaide lay back against the pillows, her silk evening dress bunching uncomfortably, though she made no move to change into nightwear. She stared up at the carved oak canopy and listened to the silent house, waiting for the front door to open once more.