Walk the grounds,Mrs Harding had said.The fresh air would do you good.
Eleanor changed into her sturdiest boots and ventured outside.
The grounds of Thornwood Park were, she discovered, considerably larger than she had realised.
She had glimpsed them only in passing—from carriage windows, from the upper floors of the house, from the brief and panicked moment of her arrival when a grey streak had sent her stumbling. Walking through them, however, revealed layers she had not discerned from a distance.
The formal gardens nearest the house were overgrown yet beautiful, their structure still visible beneath the tangle of unpruned hedges and rampant roses. Beyond them lay a succession of smaller gardens—an herb garden run wild, a kitchen garden that continued to yield despite its neglect, a small orchard of apple trees whose branches had not been trained in years.
And beyond those, at the furthest edge of the cultivated land, stood a courtyard she had not known existed.
It lay concealed behind a crumbling stone wall, accessible only through a narrow breach where the mortar had given way. Eleanor had not intended to explore it—had, in truth, been making for the east garden and the roses Mrs Harding had recommended—but something about the hidden space drew her forward.
A secret place, she thought.A place where no one goes.
She slipped through the breach in the wall.
And froze.
The Duke was kneeling in the centre of the courtyard.
He had not seen her—his back was to the broken wall, his attention fixed upon something before him. He was dressed simply, without his coat, his shirtsleeves rolled to the elbow in a manner that revealed the scarring that traced his left forearm. His dark hair was dishevelled, as though he had been running his hands through it.
And before him, observing from a cautious distance, sat the grey cat.
Eleanor could not move. Could not breathe. She could only stand within the shadow of the ruined wall and watch as her husband—her distant, silent, armoured husband—placed a dish of food upon the ground with the gentle deliberation of a man engaged in sacred ritual.
“There you are,” he said softly.
He was speaking to the cat.
His voice was different. Lighter. Almost… warm. It was a voice Eleanor had never heard from him—a voice stripped of the careful restraint he maintained in her presence, the measured distance he preserved from everyone and everything.
“I know you’re hungry. You always are.” He settled back upon his heels, making himself smaller, less imposing. “Take your time. I am not going anywhere.”
The cat regarded him with wary green eyes. It did not approach the food. It did not move at all. Yet neither did it flee.
Trust, Eleanor thought distantly.He is earning its trust. Slowly. Patiently. Without demanding anything in return.
Something fractured within her chest. Something she had not known was still capable of breaking.
Then Benjamin looked up.
For a moment, neither of them moved.
His expression passed through surprise, then something that might have been embarrassment, before the familiar shutter descended—the walls rising, the warmth receding, the man she had glimpsed vanishing behind the duke she had married.
He rose swiftly, his movements sharpened by tension, and stepped to one side. The motion placed him squarely between Eleanor and the cat.
He is protecting it, she realised.Protecting it from my fear.
Or perhaps protecting her from the cat. Or perhaps both. She could not be certain, and it scarcely mattered, for the gesture remained the same: a barrier between two creatures who could not yet exist comfortably together.
“Your Grace.” His voice had returned to its customary, careful neutrality. “I did not expect—”
“I am sorry.” The words tumbled out too quickly, too breathlessly. “I did not mean to intrude. Mrs Harding suggested I walk the grounds, and I found the breach in the wall, and I thought—”
She stopped. She did not know what she had thought. Had not been thinking at all, in truth, until she had stumbled into this hidden courtyard and discovered a secret her husband had plainly not intended to share.
