Page 52

On the occasions her laughter did not reach him, he would often hear the gentle rhythm of her bare feet dancing in the corridors. He had noticed that she had developed a habit of going barefoot despite the trunk full of slippers and walking shoes he had ordered for her over a week ago. The greatest change, however, since her arrival was that she reached for him less and less with each passing day. She no longer sought his attention with the same hopeful persistence, nor did she linger beside him in anticipation of conversation.

This was exactly as he had intended.

"It is nice to see you too, Laurence. I hope all is well." She wrinkled her nose slightly as she hugged something to her chest. "How is the ... nefarious plotting coming along?"

"Nefarious plotting?" Laurence placed a hand dramatically against his chest, feigning outrage. "I have no idea how you could assume two fine, upstanding members of the aristocracy would spend their days plotting anything ill-mannered."

He finished with an exaggerated grin.

Arthur watched Eliza's shoulders loosen almost immediately in Laurence's presence.

"Well..." She smiled shyly. "Who knows what you two get up to in here all day? Certainly not I."

Arthur found himself studying her. She wore a satin gown of soft pastel pink, one of the many he had commissioned for her. It had been one of the more daring choices for daytime wear, not too immodest, merely cut with a little less elegance than convention demanded. He had chosen it because he believed the colour would flatter her complexion. He simply had not anticipated quite how well it would flatter the curve of her chest.

Nor had he anticipated becoming acutely aware of just how well it suited her in the company of others. Arthur's gaze shifted instinctively to the nation's most notorious rake. To his friend's credit, there was nothing remotely improper in his expression. Only polite attention.

While she spoke, Eliza hardly looked at either of them. Instead, her eyes wandered slowly around the study, taking in the towering bookcases, the maps upon the walls, and the desk strewn with papers.

It struck him that this was the first time she had ever entered his private study. After letting her eyes roam the room, her gaze settled on him. Her head tilted slightly, and her lips parted. He could almost see her weighing each word before daring to speak it.

"If I may be so bold, might we speak privately?" Eliza said.

Her arms remained folded across her chest, clutching whatever she had brought with her, but he was moments away from leaving for the hunt.

"I'm sure whatever you have to say can be said before Laurence." Arthur's voice remained even.

"He's about as bashful as a barmaid."

It was probably wiser that he was not left alone with her. He had been doing well.

Polite.

Respectful.

Distant.

She bit her lip, and his eyes betrayed him, dropping to the movement for the briefest second before he forced himself to meet her gaze once more.

"It's... about the marital bed."

Laurence let out a low whistle.

"Well, I can certainly see why Buck would want me here for this conversation. I am, after all, his closest confidant and unquestionably the most experienced gentleman on the estate when it comes to matters of the bedchamber." He clasped his hands together with exaggerated sobriety.

"That said, I think I shall abstain from this conversation." Amusement swept shamelessly in Laurence's eyes.

"Buck, I will see you out on the grounds." There was unapologetic laughter behind every word as he hurried from the study, closing the door behind him with rather more haste than dignity, leaving only Arthur and his wife.

Silence stretched between them until, after a few moments, she stepped forward and gently placed two neatly stacked books upon his desk.

Several slips of paper protruded from the pages, corners bent and marked where she had evidently paused to study something of importance. Of course, Arthur knew exactly what the books were without even glancing down.

At the end of every day, one of the senior servants left a brief memorandum upon his desk outlining the Duchess's activities. He had long since convinced himself the reports were merely practical. A Duke ought to know what occurred beneath his own roof. Whether he still believed that explanation was becoming increasingly doubtful. The reality was that his wife remained an enigma, and he found the unanswered questions increasingly difficult to ignore.

He distinctly remembered almost choking upon his whisky the previous week when he had read that the Duchess of Buckingham had spent the afternoon diligently studying Aristotle's Masterpiece. The scandalous manual on marital duties.

Standing before him, she looked quietly pleased with herself. One hand rested lightly atop the books, while the other hung neatly at her side as she leaned ever so slightly towards him.