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"A thoroughly pathetic excuse for a gentleman, though I suppose that has little to do with the circumstances of his birth."

He fell silent again, the breeze stirring the curtains as though encouraging him to stop there.

Instead, he continued.

"As I grew older, I learned something else."

His gaze drifted towards the faint outline of Eliza opposite him.

"My mother longed for more children. I spent years believing she could not conceive again."

He swallowed.

"It was not until I was older that I discovered the truth. My father's endless affairs left her with an illness. One the physicians could do very little about. She was never able to bear another child because of it."

"I was left as the only legitimate heir," he continued after a long pause. "Every expectation, every responsibility, every burden that belonged to the dukedom rested upon one pair of shoulders. I am left carrying the weight of a dukedom because my father could not master his appetites."

His hand tightened ever so slightly around her ankle before he realised what he was doing and deliberately relaxed it again.

"My father died when I was seven."

There was no triumph in the statement.

Only fact.

"Mercifully."

Another silence settled over them.

"I sometimes wonder," he admitted, "how many more children he would have fathered had he lived another twenty years. Or how many more women he would have destroyed."

"So no," he said quietly. "I shall not keep a mistress." His voice carried none of the cold certainty with which he usually issued declarations.

His gaze never left hers.

"I have no intention of becoming my father."

“Oh, Arthur..." she began, her voice so soft it was little more than a breath carried across the bed.

He knew exactly what was coming. Pity. Compassion.

His wife possessed both in impossible abundance, and if he allowed her another sentence she would undoubtedly be halfway across the mattress, reaching for him with those infuriatingly gentle hands of hers.

“It is my turn to ask a question now," he interrupted, his tone quieter than firm, though it accomplished its purpose all the same.

She fell silent immediately.

The room seemed to breathe around them. The curtains stirred gently in the night breeze drifting through the open windows, carrying the scent of rain-soaked earth and lavender from the gardens below. Somewhere in the distance, the old grandfather clock marked another quarter hour before the house returned to perfect stillness.

“Why did you visit Radnor today?” He could see her eyes widen a little with surprise.

"I'm worried for him," she replied.

Arthur was silent for a long moment.

"Dr Abraham believes he could recover." Arthur shared before exhaling slowly. He would not cushion it.

"But he remains in considerable danger."