By the end of the evening, the whispers had already begun. The Duke of Ravensmere, it seemed, was utterly undone by his Duchess.
The ride home was quiet. Margaret sat beside him in the carriage, the glow from the lanterns outside sliding across her face as the wheels rolled through the darkened drive. The evening had left something lingering between them, something warm and unsettled all at once.
The carriage stopped in front of Ravensmere House. A servant opened the door, and Nathaniel stepped down first and offered Margaret his hand as she followed. Inside, the great hall was quiet. Lamps burned low, throwing soft light across the marble floor.
The moment they crossed the threshold, the shift returned. Nathaniel felt it before he even spoken, the familiar discipline sliding back into place. He released her hand.
“That was successful,” he said evenly.
Margaret looked at him.
“Yes,” she said after a moment.
“You must be tired.”
“I am not–”
“I will not keep you longer.”
He inclined his head slightly. He turned to leave that instant.
“Goodnight, Margaret.”
“I cannot do this anymore.”
Nathaniel stilled, and then he turned back slowly. Margaret had not moved from where she stood beneath the entrance lantern. Her gloves were still in her hands, forgotten. Something in her composure had finally cracked.
“Do what?” he asked.
“This,” she said quietly.
He waited.
“The way you appear beside me when others are watching,” she continued, her voice tight, “and then disappear the moment we are alone.”
Nathaniel’s expression hardened slightly.
“That is not what I–”
“It is exactly what you do.”
Her words were not sharp. They were worse than that.
They were tired.
“You stood beside me tonight,” she said. “You laughed with me. You danced with me as though none of this distance existed. And now, you walk away as though it meant nothing.”
“That is not fair.”
“Is it not?”
“I have given you exactly what I promised,” he said. “Freedom. Respect. Space.”
“You have given me silence.”
“That was the agreement.”
Margaret took a step closer.
