“Cook is preparing a cold collation for the study. His Grace indicated he did not wish to be disturbed during the meeting.”
There was nothing unusual in any of this. Solicitors attended great estates as a matter of course; quarterly reviews were routine; Benjamin’s preference for privacy in business matters was well established. And yet something in the timing unsettled her—a faint unease she could not quite define.
Perhaps it was only that she had grown accustomed to being included in estate concerns. In recent weeks, Benjamin had begun consulting her on matters ranging from tenant disputes to investment decisions, treating her judgment as practical rather than ornamental. The notion of a significant meeting proceeding without her involvement felt… odd.
You are being ridiculous, she told herself firmly.He is entitled to conduct business privately. Not every matter requires your participation.
And yet—
“Thank you, Mrs Harding,” she said aloud. “Pray inform me if anything is required.”
The housekeeper inclined her head and withdrew, leaving Eleanor alone with her correspondence and the faint, persistent impression that something was not quite right.
***
The morning passed without incident.
Eleanor completed her translation work—a series of letters from German wool merchants requiring meticulous interpretation—and reviewed the household accounts for the coming month. The labour proved sufficiently absorbing to quiet her earlier unease, and by midday she had almost forgotten the solicitor’s visit altogether.
She took luncheon in the morning room, as had become her custom when Benjamin was occupied elsewhere. The mealwas excellent, the mild weather filtering pleasantly through the windows, and Eleanor found her thoughts drifting—inevitably—toward the other night. Toward his hand in hers, his voice roughened with gratitude, and the promise she had made to come should the nightmares return.
Something has changed, she thought.Something fundamental. We are no longer simply two people sharing a house. We are...
She did not know how to finish the sentence. Partners? Companions? Something more?
The uncertainty should have troubled her. Instead, it felt almost exciting—the sense of standing on the threshold of something new, something she had never allowed herself to imagine.
Perhaps this is what hope feels like, she thought.Perhaps this is what it means to trust.
She finished her meal and returned to work, her heart lighter than it had been in years.
The translated documents were completed by mid-afternoon.
Eleanor gathered them into a careful stack, reviewing her work once more for accuracy. The German merchants proposed a revised shipping arrangement that might considerably benefit the estate’s wool trade, though the terms were intricate and, in places, deliberately obscured. She had spent hours disentangling their meaning and felt a quiet satisfaction in the result.
Benjamin will want to see this, she thought.The timeline they propose is aggressive. He should review it before replying.
She knew he remained engaged in conference with the solicitor. Mrs Harding had mentioned that Mr Carroway had arrived bearing an unusually extensive portfolio of documents, suggesting the quarterly review might extend beyond its usual duration. Still, by now they must surely be nearing its conclusion. The merchants’ proposal was still time-sensitive; postponing discussion until much later might mean forfeiting a valuable opportunity.
Eleanor rose from her desk and made her way toward the study.
***
The corridor outside Benjamin’s study lay quiet, the afternoon light slanting through windows overlooking the formal gardens. Her footsteps were softened by the thick carpet, her approach nearly soundless, and she was almost at the door before she realised that voices still carried from within.
She ought to turn back. She ought to wait until the meeting concluded—ought to send word through a servant requesting an audience at the Duke’s convenience. To intrude upon a private business discussion would be improper, and she had no wish to place either Benjamin or his solicitor in discomfort.
Yet something in the tenor of the voices arrested her.
Not anger—nothing so overt—but urgency. The strained cadence of a conversation that had moved beyond routine business into more personal territory.
The door was not fully closed. It stood perhaps an inch ajar, too narrow to allow a view within, yet wide enough for sound to carry clearly into the corridor.
Eleanor knew she should withdraw. Knew that lingering to overhear a private exchange was a betrayal of trust—a violation of the respect she and Benjamin had so carefully constructed between them.
Then she heard her name.
“—the Duchess,” Mr Carroway was saying. “I trust the arrangement continues to answer your purpose?”
