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The thought was deeply moving, yet his expedition was chartered, the Ottoman permits stamped, and the supply manifests finalized. Seeing her concern behind her usual composed demeanor made him wish he could dismantle the expedition plans entirely.

"Adelaide," he said softly.

She blinked, mastering her expression before recovering her quiet composure and picking up her fork.

"An evening at the opera sounds delightful," she said evenly. "I confess I have not attended a performance since I was nineteen, as my aunt considered the theater an unnecessary expense."

"Your aunt viewed most enjoyments as unnecessary expenses," he noted gently.

"She did indeed," Adelaide offered a genuine, though reserved, smile. "Which opera is being performed?"

"Don Giovanni," Julian replied, refilling her wine glass. "Are you familiar with the work?"

"I know of it, though I have not witnessed a performance."

"Then you shall find the evening remarkable. The King's Theatre features an exceptional company this Season." He leaned forward slightly. "We shall secure a private box, as I have no desire to navigate the crowded pit."

"You hold firm opinions regarding theater seating."

"I hold firm opinions regarding most practical arrangements," he noted, raising his glass, "as you have no doubt discovered."

"I have, indeed." Adelaide lifted her glass in return. "To the opera, then."

"To the opera."

They drank the dark wine as the candlelight flickered against the wood paneling. Julian set his glass down, reaching for the next invitation on the stack.

"Lady Mendrick's musical evening—I presume we shall attend?"

"I see no reason to decline. Lady Mendrick is an acquaintance of Charlotte's."

"Then we shall accept. And the Venetian breakfast?"

"Acceptable, provided the weather remains clear. Should it rain, I refuse to stand upon damp lawns drinking cold tea."

Julian let out a brief, genuine laugh that broke the quiet atmosphere, prompting Adelaide to look up with a warmth that brightened her features.

"You are smiling," she observed softly.

"I am laughing."

"Both—which remains a rare sight."

"I smile when circumstances warrant it."

"Not frequently enough," she noted, turning her glass between her fingers. "I truly look forward to attending a proper ball, Julian. I spent years at country assemblies where the musicians were poor, the hot refreshments cold, and the dancing concluded early."

"That sounds remarkably dreary."

Julian raised his glass to his lips, surveying his wife across the table. Soft tendrils of her chestnut hair had slipped from her coiffure during dinner, framing her face in the warm candlelight. She debated the merits of country assemblies with the same sharp intellect she brought to botanical taxonomy, her hazel eyes holding a genuine warmth that owed nothing to the setting.

Julian was struck by the sudden, intoxicating realization that he was genuinely looking forward to the opera and Adelaide's company.

CHAPTER 15

The fire crackled in the hearth. Adelaide turned onto her side for the fifth time, pulling the counterpane with her until the heavy silk bunched against her chin. The bed was wide, the bedcovers luxurious, and the hearth—which Mrs. Rutherford had personally tended before retiring—threw steady, golden warmth across the bedchamber.

None of it helped her sleep.