Anthea blinked. "What?"
Gregory finally looked at her, and there was something vulnerable in his expression. Something that reminded her of the night they had first discussed their arrangement—when he had been honest about needing her help.
"You know them," he said. "Know how to navigate their prejudices, redirect conversations before they become hostile. If you had been there, you might have been able to smooth things over before they dismissed me entirely."
"I thought you did not want my help," Anthea said quietly. "You said I was managing you. Undermining you."
"I was angry," Gregory admitted. "And humiliated. Having you step in at that dinner party—in front of men whose respect Ineeded—it made me feel incompetent. As though I could not handle a simple conversation without my wife's intervention."
He paused, choosing his words carefully.
"But I was wrong," he continued. "Or at least, partially wrong. You were not trying to undermine me. You were trying to help. And my pride prevented me from accepting that help when I needed it."
The admission hung in the air between them.
"I should not have interfered without discussing it with you first," Anthea said. "I saw you heading toward conflict and simply reacted. But I did not consider how it would make you feel. How it would appear to the other men."
"And I should not have dismissed you so coldly," Gregory said. "Especially not in public."
They sat in silence for a moment, both processing the unexpected apology.
"We are both terrible at this," Anthea said finally.
"At what?"
"At working together." She gestured between them. "We made this arrangement thinking it would be simple. You help me,I help you, we both achieve our goals. But it turns out that actually coordinating our efforts is far more complicated than we anticipated."
"Because we are both stubborn," Gregory said.
"And proud," Anthea added.
"And accustomed to handling everything ourselves rather than relying on others."
"Yes." Anthea felt a small smile tug at her lips despite everything. "We are perfectly matched in our dysfunction."
Gregory's mouth quirked. "Hardly a romantic sentiment."
"We are not a romantic match," Anthea reminded him, though the words felt less certain than they once had. "We are a practical arrangement."
"Of course," Gregory agreed, but there was something in his expression that suggested he did not entirely believe it either.
Anthea pushed her plate aside and leaned forward, an idea beginning to form.
"What if we tried again?" she said. "But differently this time. Not separately, but together."
Gregory raised an eyebrow. "What did you have in mind?"
"A house party," Anthea said, the idea gaining momentum as she spoke. "Here, at the estate. We invite gentlemen for a hunt—men you need for your investment proposals. And we also invite my sisters, along with eligible men who might be suitable matches for them."
Gregory's expression shifted from skepticism to interest. "A multi-purpose gathering."
"Exactly." Anthea's mind was already racing ahead, planning. "The hunt gives you a chance to interact with potential investors in an environment where you are comfortable. You understand hunting, military tactics, outdoor pursuits. It plays to your strengths rather than forcing you into drawing rooms where you feel out of place."
"And your sisters would be there as your guests," Gregory continued, following her logic. "Which gives them legitimacy. Shows that you—a Duchess—consider them worthy of your time and attention."
"And more than that," Anthea added, warming to the theme, "it gives the men a chance to see me as your wife. To see us working together as partners. If they see that you value my input, that we present a united front?—"
"—then perhaps they will reconsider their prejudices about our marriage," Gregory finished. "And by extension, their willingness to work with me."
