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"I am your wife."

"You are."

"You trusted me with your family's legacy, with Thomas's collection, and with the museum, conservatory, and journals," Adelaide maintained a steady tone, though her fingers trembled against the cloth where his touch had rested. "You trusted me with all of those responsibilities. Surely you can trust me with this."

Julian looked at her for a long moment before his mouth curved into a weary, sad expression that bore no resemblance to his earlier smile.

"My dear Adelaide," he spoke softly. "This is not your battle to fight. Forgive me."

She took a slow breath and tried to smile. "Of course."

He returned her smile, but all she could see were the dark hollows beneath his eyes, and the impenetrable distance that would not close.

CHAPTER 23

Come for a ride with me, Duchess.

—Julian

Adelaide stared down at the folded slip of heavy cream vellum. The ink was still fresh enough that the letters gleamed in the morning light—his firm, slanted hand. Just seven words and his signature.

A sudden flutter stirred beneath her ribs. Two days of agonizing silence had passed since that dreadful breakfast where he had pulled his hand away and declared his burdens were his own. She had eaten every meal alone since, the breakfast room table set for two with one chair empty, wondering if he would ever speak to her again.

And now this.

"Betsy," she turned toward the door where her lady's maid stood arranging fresh linens. "Fetch my dark riding habit. Quickly."

"Yes, Your Grace."

Within a quarter hour, Adelaide was dressed in her dark blue wool habit, her hair pinned beneath a small velvet riding hat, her gloved hands smoothing the front of her skirt as she descended the main staircase with a racing heart.

Julian stood near the front entrance of Ravensmere House, waiting. His riding boots were polished to a shine, and his heavy wool greatcoat hung open over a dark waistcoat. He looked relaxed; his shoulders sat lower than she had seen them in weeks, his posture carrying an ease that the walls of the estate usually stole from him.

"The horses are waiting," he offered his arm.

"Where are we heading?"

He smiled—not the charming, deflecting expression she had grown accustomed to, but a quiet, sincere warmth. "It remains a surprise."

"You are infuriating."

"I have been informed of that fact."

They rode north as Mayfair's grand townhouses yielded to Marylebone's suburban reaches and then to open country roads. The crisp autumn air carried the scent of fallen leaves and distant woodsmoke, with rolling green fields stretching on either side.

Adelaide watched Julian from the corner of her eye. He handled his reins with fluid grace, his gloved hands quiet and sure. His jaw was relaxed and his back straight without rigidity. He looked, for the first time since she had known him in this house, like a man who belonged in his own skin.

"Julian."

"Mmm?"

"If I am guessing correctly, I might suspect my husband is actively courting me."

He threw back his head and laughed—a rich, booming sound that rolled across the open fields. She had not heard him laugh with such freedom since their wedding.

"Yes, indeed, I am courting my duchess!" He turned to her, his blue-gray eyes bright with genuine amusement. "And why should I not court my duchess when she is my wife?"

The words wrapped around her heart. She looked away, pretending to examine the hedgerow, yet the warmth spread deep within her chest.