"Perhaps," Gregory agreed. "But I am also being honest. And I think—I hope—you are beginning to realize that I mean what I say."
He was so close. Close enough that she could feel his warmth, could see the sincerity in his eyes, could almost believe that he actually saw her—all of her—and wanted exactly that.
"I will try," she whispered. "To be more myself. To stop pretending."
"That is all I ask," Gregory said softly.
They stood like that for a long moment, his hand still cradling her face, her heart racing in her chest.
"I should let you rest," Gregory said finally, though he made no move to leave. "Tomorrow will be another long day."
"Yes," Anthea agreed. But neither of them moved.
The air between them felt charged. Dangerous. Full of possibilities that terrified and thrilled her in equal measure.
Finally—reluctantly—Gregory stepped back.
"Good night, Anthea," he said.
"Good night," she whispered.
He left through the connecting door, and Anthea stood alone in her chambers, her hand rising to touch her cheek where his fingers had been.
Something had shifted tonight. Something fundamental.
She was falling in love with her husband.
No—if she was being honest with herself, she had already fallen. Had been falling since the moment he refused to let her hide, since he demanded she be exactly who she was without apology.
The question was what she would do about it.
The next morning dawned bright and clear—perfect weather for the hunt Gregory had planned.
Anthea did not participate in the actual hunting. That was men's territory, and she had other responsibilities. But she organized a lovely breakfast for the gentlemen before they departed, ensured all the hunting equipment was properly prepared, and made certain the other ladies had entertaining activities planned for the morning.
Veronica and Mr. Hartley had already disappeared to the garden with their sketchbooks. Anthea had watched them go with satisfaction. The connection between them was obvious—quiet and gentle, but genuine.
Poppy had been invited to watch the hunt from a distance with some of the other ladies. Henry had asked specifically if she would be there, his expression hopeful.
"He is nice," Poppy said as they prepared to depart. "Mr. Ashford, I mean. Kind. Funny. Not at all like the other gentlemen Mama used to push at me."
"No," Anthea agreed. "He is nothing like those men."
"Do you think—" Poppy stopped, then started again. "Do you think he might actually be interested? Or is he simply being polite because we are the Duke's sisters?"
"I think," Anthea said carefully, "that Henry Ashford does not do anything simply to be polite. If he is spending time with you, it is because he genuinely wants to."
Poppy's face lit up in a way Anthea had not seen in months.
The hunt itself was apparently a great success. The gentlemen returned hours later, muddy and exhausted and thoroughly pleased with themselves. Gregory had a pheasant over his shoulder and looked more relaxed than Anthea had seen him since the wedding.
"It went well?" she asked as the men dispersed to clean up before dinner.
"Very well," Gregory said. "Sir Richard has agreed to invest. Lord Pemberton is considering it. And Henry proved to be an excellent shot, which impressed everyone."
"And did you enjoy yourself?" Anthea asked. "Beyond the business aspects?"
Gregory smiled—a real smile that reached his eyes. "I did. It felt good to be doing something I actually understand rather than trying to navigate drawing room politics."
