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Mrs. Rutherford offered a low curtsy. "Welcome to Ravensmere House, Your Grace. We are deeply honored by your arrival."

Adelaide offered a warm smile. "Thank you, Mrs. Rutherford. I look forward to working alongside you."

A subtle warmth touched the housekeeper's expression as she acknowledged the greeting.

Yet Adelaide observed an underlying distance in the interaction. As Julian turned to guide her inside, Mr. Danvers lowered his gaze politely, while Mrs. Rutherford stepped back half a pace. The attending footmen maintained rigid decorum, their eyes carefully avoiding direct contact with the duke. They treated him with flawless formal respect, yet maintained the cautious reserve reserved for a stranger.

Thirteen years of continuous absence had taught the household to operate independently. He remained their master, yet they regarded him as an unfamiliar figure.

Julian made no outward sign of noticing the distance, guiding her into the grand entrance hall where marble floors echoed their footsteps. Dark wood paneling lined the walls, and the air carried faint scents of beeswax polish and aged paper. The atmosphere was cool and quiet—the distinct stillness of a grand residence that had long stood empty.

"The library lies through those double doors," Julian explained, gesturing down the hallway. "The conservatory extends along the rear of the residence; I suspect you will find its design remarkable."

"I am certain I shall."

"The drawing rooms occupy the principal floor above, with the formal dining hall beyond."

He led her up the grand staircase, where polished oak banisters curved upward toward a broad gallery lined with framed portraits.

Adelaide slowed her pace. Several large canvases along the eastern wall were entirely covered in white dust cloths, concealing the portraits beneath. The coverings were clean and well-maintained, yet effectively hid the subjects from view.

She glanced at Julian, who kept his gaze fixed straight ahead without checking his stride. She remained silent, following him down the upper hall.

They turned into a quiet hallway where the ceiling lowered and the light dimmed.

Julian halted abruptly.

His entire posture went rigid. His shoulders drew back sharply, and his hands, resting at his sides, stilled into tense lines. He stood motionless in the hallway, staring at a heavy, closed oak door to their left.

"Julian?" Adelaide touched his dark sleeve gently. "Are you unwell?"

He did not answer immediately, his jaw setting as he stared at the wood paneling as though confronting a ghost.

"I have not truly lived in this house for years," he confessed, his voice dropping to a low, gravelly whisper. "I occupied the study and worked within the library, but I could not reside here in truth."

"For what reason?"

"Every room carries memories of Thomas," he swallowed hard. "He cherished this house—the conservatory, the gardens, the gallery, and the grand staircase. He used to slide down the banister as a boy of twelve despite my mother's scolding, only to repeat the feat the following morning."

Adelaide's fingers tightened gently against his arm.

Julian drew a slow breath. He took a single step toward the closed door, his hand rising slightly toward the brass latch before dropping back to his side.

"It remains Thomas's bedchamber," he whispered into the quiet hallway.

Without another word, he turned away sharply, his pace quickening down the hall. Adelaide kept step beside him until they reached the far end of the hallway, where a high double door stood open, spilling warm candlelight onto the floorboards.

"Your apartments," Julian said, his tone regaining its formal, controlled composure. "They adjoin my own quarters."

Adelaide looked inside to see a spacious, elegant bedchamber featuring a bright fire in the hearth, fresh floral arrangements upon the dressing table, and her traveling trunks placed along the wall.

She turned to face Julian, who remained standing outside the threshold without making any move to enter.

He is my husband, she thought, her fingers pressing into her reticule. This is his home; will he not step inside?

Julian did not cross the threshold. Reaching for her gloved hand, he lifted it slowly and pressed his lips against her fingers. The kiss was lingering, gentle, and respectful.

"I wish you a restful night, Adelaide," he said quietly.