"You did well at the drawing room politics too," Anthea pointed out.
"Only because you were there," Gregory said. Then, more softly, "You were yourself today. During breakfast. I noticed."
Anthea had been. Had not pretended to be less knowledgeable when Lord Pemberton made another questionable agricultural claim. Had politely but firmly corrected him, then softened it with genuine curiosity about his experiences.
And Lord Pemberton had accepted the correction with only minor grumbling. Had even seemed impressed by her knowledge.
"It was easier than I expected," Anthea admitted. "Though still terrifying."
"You were magnificent," Gregory said. "As always."
That evening's dinner was celebratory. The mood was lighter, the conversation flowing easily. Anthea watched as Henry and Poppy found excuses to sit near each other, as Veronica and Mr. Hartley exchanged shy smiles across the table, as Gregory discussed plans with Sir Richard with genuine enthusiasm.
Everything was working. All of it.
After dinner, during the inevitable musical entertainment, Henry approached Anthea.
"Your Grace," he said quietly. "Might I ask your permission to call on your sister? Miss Poppy, that is. When we return to London."
Anthea felt her heart swell. "You may. Though I should warn you—she has very definite opinions about nearly everything."
"Good," Henry said firmly. "I cannot abide vapid conversation. Your sister is delightful precisely because she has thoughts in her head and is not afraid to share them."
"Then you have my blessing," Anthea said. "And my gratitude for seeing her as she truly is."
Across the room, Gregory caught her eye. Smiled. Raised his glass slightly in acknowledgment.
Later, as the evening wound down and guests began retiring, Gregory fell into step beside her in the hallway.
"It went well today," he said quietly.
"Very well," Anthea agreed. "Sir Richard seemed genuinely enthusiastic about your proposals."
"He was." Gregory paused at the base of the stairs. "Though I suspect his enthusiasm had as much to do with your breakfast conversation as my hunting skills."
"I merely asked intelligent questions," Anthea said.
"You were brilliant," Gregory corrected. "As always." He moved closer, his voice dropping. "And you were yourself. Thank you for that."
Heat crept into Anthea's cheeks. "You are being absurd again."
"Am I?" Gregory reached up and tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear, the gesture achingly familiar. "Or am I simply appreciating my extraordinarily clever wife?"
"Gregory—" Anthea stopped, not quite sure what she meant to say. Her heart was racing, her skin tingling where he had touched her.
"Yes?" His eyes held hers, warm and intent.
For once, she did not chastise him. Did not remind him of their arrangement or tell him to stop being ridiculous. She simply stood there, feeling shy and uncertain and far too aware of how close he was standing.
"I should retire," she said finally, her voice barely above a whisper. "Tomorrow we have the archery competition, and then the evening musicale."
"Ah yes," Gregory said, his mouth quirking. "I had almost forgotten about your elaborate schedule. You have planned every hour of the next three days, have you not?"
"Someone had to," Anthea said, attempting to regain her composure. "Left to your own devices, you would have made it nothing but hunting and drinking."
"Guilty," Gregory admitted, unrepentant. "Though I confess, I am looking forward to watching you demolish everyone at archery tomorrow. You do realize the gentlemen will underestimate you?"
"I am counting on it," Anthea said.
