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The day had brought with it an unexpected joy, a sense of lightness he had not felt in years. As he moved purposefully toward his study to meet with his man of business, Philip could not help but feel a growing eagerness for what lay ahead.

* * *

As the quiet maid, Mary, helped her into an old-fashioned muslin dress, Annabel worked to quell the nervous excitement bubbling within her. The thought of spending an entire evening in the duke’s company felt both thrilling and daunting.

What would she talk about?

It was not every day she dined with a duke. Until this morning, she had never even seen a duke, much less spoken with one. She began mentally listing possible topics, but each one struck her as woefully dull.

Perhaps she should recall the conversations she had shared with Richard over the years. He had once told her she was captivating, so surely those topics would suffice. Horses and estate management were safe subjects, and she could always inquire about local customs or upcoming seasonal celebrations.

Her hand settled over her stomach as she fought to quiet the fluttering sensation of nerves. Butterflies seemed to whirl beneath her ribs. If she did not calm herself, she feared she would not be able to eat a bite.

Mary’s deft fingers moved quickly, working Annabel’s tangle of chestnut hair into a coiffure. Taking a deep breath, Annabel steadied herself.

No matter what happened, she would not ruin this proposal. She would learn everything needed to make the duke proud of her. For reasons she could not fully explain, his opinion mattered now. She wanted him to like her, to be glad he had offered her this chance.

She closed her eyes briefly, her resolve solidifying. She would be a good wife—and a good duchess, though the notion still seemed overwhelming. Such an elevation in status was unexpected when she had only ever hoped for a kind husband and a warm household. Now she faced a future so grand it left her a little breathless.

Mary stepped back and gestured toward the mirror.

Annabel turned, gasping softly at her reflection. The maid had outdone herself, fashioning Annabel’s hair into a cascade of chestnut curls that framed her face beautifully. She had never seen her hair styled so elegantly.

The muslin dress, while outdated, was simple and charming, its delicate red flowers embroidered around the hem adding a cheerful touch. The colors suited her, bringing a healthy glow to her cheeks. Annabel tilted her head, taking in the woman staring back at her. She suspected she looked ... attractive.

Still, she worried. The late duchess, with her flawless porcelain complexion, had set an impossibly high standard. Annabel’s sun-kissed skin, earned from hours spent riding outdoors, was far from the pale ideal of London fashion. She hoped the duke would not mind.

Her gaze lingered on her reflection. This was who she was—her complexion, her frame, her spirit. She could not change those things, and deep down, she did not wish to.

I am simply Annabel; she thought. And I must trust that I am enough.

* * *

Philip paced the length of the library, his boots soundless on the Axminster carpeting of rich gold and deep gray. Despite his calm exterior, a current of excitement hummed through him. He ran a hand through his hair in an uncharacteristic display of nerves.

He could not remember the last time he had looked forward to spending time with someone as much as he anticipated this evening with Annabel. She was unlike any woman he had met—warm, genuine, and entirely without artifice. The prospect of her presence thrilled him, even as he reminded himself to temper his behavior. He did not want to overwhelm her or give her any reason to regret her decision to accept his proposal.

The sound of light footsteps echoed from the hall, interrupting his restless thoughts. Drawing a steadying breath, Philip straightened his coat and turned toward the door, schooling his features into a calm smile.

Annabel hesitated on the threshold, framed by the soft light of the sconces lining the hall. She wore an older muslin dress, likely unearthed from his late mother’s trunks. Though simple and modest, the gown suited her, its bodice highlighting her natural curves with an effortless grace. Her hair, styled in a cascade of chestnut curls, framed her face beautifully. She looked lovely—so much so that Philip’s heart skipped a beat.

Striding forward, he reached for her hand, brushing a light kiss across her gloved fingers as he bowed. A delicate scent of lavender drifted from her, and he forced himself to keep his thoughts—his impulses—in check.

“Your Grace,” Annabel said shyly, a small smile playing on her lips, “I must confess to feeling a little mortified this evening.”

“Mortified?” Philip asked, arching a brow in mock disbelief.

“I can only imagine what you must think of me—riding alone across two counties to seek you out.”

“We have already discussed this, have we not?” Philip replied, his tone light. “You are reckless and daring.” He paused, his voice softening. “But despite your teasing to the contrary, promise me that is the last time you do something so dangerous.”

Her gaze was earnest as she nodded. “I promise.”

“Good. Now promise me you will remain daring, though with a bit more caution.”

She gave him a startled look, then broke into a smile. “Daring but not reckless,” she agreed.

“Excellent.”