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A.

A soft laugh escaped her lips. Yesterday she wore a yellow day dress—the very same shade as today's carnations.

"This is so lovely to see," Vinnie said warmly. "Never in my wildest dreams would I have imagined His Grace courting anyone. I think it's terribly romantic."

Eliza looked up.

"What do you mean?"

"He's courting you." Vinnie gave her shoulders a delighted squeeze before continuing with her braid.

Eliza blinked. She supposed he was.

Somewhere over the last week, almost without her noticing, Arthur had stopped merely tolerating affection and had begun pursuing it.

Each morning she awoke alone, his side of the bed already cold, knowing he had risen before dawn as he always did to begin work. She dressed each morning with Vinnie, deliberately choosing ribbons, gowns and jewellery with one purpose alone. To see which earned her that look at breakfast. It was a look that travelled slowly over her before settling upon her face, and then that dark, unhurried smile would appear, holding a delectable combination of admiration and hunger. It was enough to make warmth bloom low in her stomach every single time.

It was the simplest of pleasures, yet Eliza suspected she would treasure it for the rest of her days. It was almost midday by the time Vinnie had finished braiding her hair, and Eliza set off in search of the library.

She had mostly mastered the layout of Winworth now, at least the north wing, though the estate remained vast enough that she suspected she would still be discovering new rooms months from now.

As she wandered through the corridors, she noticed several rooms still lay in partial darkness.

Her thoughts drifted to what Arthur had confessed only a few days before: his former love, the duel, and the scar that had altered the course of his life.

She no longer doubted why he had once insisted so many rooms at Winworth remain dimly lit. The man who had been defeated in darkness transformed his own home so he would never again be at such a disadvantage.

It was so very Arthur.

The library was full of towering bookcases stretching from the polished floor to the ceiling, interrupted only by galleries and rolling ladders. Dust danced lazily through shafts of sunlight spilling across the worn leather bindings.

She had come with a purpose.

Gunther was occupied in the drawing room tuning the pianoforte for her, leaving the library blissfully deserted. She cast a cautious glance over each shoulder, ensuring no one was nearby, particularly not the Dowager Duchess, who would undoubtedly insist, with impeccable manners, that it was entirely inappropriate for a duchess to retrieve her own books.

Satisfied the coast was clear, she grasped the wooden ladder and climbed.

Her fingers skimmed along rows of familiar names as she slid one volume from the shelf, studied its spine, then returned it before reaching for another. Several minutes passed in companionable silence, broken only by the soft scrape of books being replaced. She had just stretched onto the very tips of her toes to inspect another title when the sound of someone clearing their throat shattered the quiet.

She froze and turned slowly.

Arthur stood a few paces away, dressed in immaculate white breeches, a crisp linen shirt and a navy waistcoat, his hands resting comfortably on his hips.

"What is my wife doing with her afternoon?"

She tightened her grip on the ladder, attempting an expression of perfect innocence.

"Oh, you know. Merely looking for some reading material."

One dark eyebrow rose. Without a word, he lifted a finger and crooked it towards himself. She sighed dramatically before obediently beginning her descent. She had barely reached the final few rungs when warm hands settled firmly around her waist.

Before she could protest, Arthur lifted her effortlessly from the ladder.

A laugh escaped her as he lowered her gently to the floor, keeping her against him. Her back rested against his chest, his arms loosely caging her so there was no possibility of escape.

"Shall we try that again?" he murmured beside her ear as their bodies were pressed together, his voice low with amusement. "What is my wife truly up to?"

He turned his head just enough to brush a lingering kiss against her temple before another found the curve of her cheek. She melted happily against him.