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She stood in the silent hallway as her candle burned low. The grand house held a deep quiet—the weight of long years of waiting, of grief contained behind sealed doors.

Whatever else this marriage becomes, she thought, I will help him find his way home. I will bring warmth to this house. I will make it live again.

Turning back toward her quarters, she walked past the shrouded portraits and past Julian's quiet room, choosing not to knock tonight.

Tomorrow, her work would begin.

Julian extended his hand, and Adelaide placed her gloved fingers in his as she descended from the carriage. Looking up at the grand facade of the King's Theatre, light spilled from the high windows while carriages lined the Haymarket, the entrance bustling with the arrival of London society.

"I have not set foot inside the opera house since the year of my debut," she remarked, a bright smile lighting her features.

Julian's hand lingered upon hers briefly before he released it. "I have missed the theater myself."

"You have been exploring ruins in Anatolia for thirteen years," she teased softly. "I rather thought the theater had missed you."

"I am certain the company wept nightly due to my absence," he replied, tucking her hand into the crook of his arm. "Come, our box occupies the second tier."

He guided her through the broad hallways filled with opera-goers in formal evening dress. Gentlemen bowed as they passed while ladies turned to observe them, their whispered consultations echoing behind gloved hands and painted fans. Adelaide maintained a composed posture, anchored by Julian's steady arm beside her.

Their private box proved intimate and elegant, featuring two velvet-upholstered chairs facing the stage, separated by a low rail draped in crimson velvet. Julian seated her on the left where the sightlines were clearest before taking the adjoining chair.

"You selected this box deliberately," she observed.

"I did."

"The angle is exceptional."

"I am a surveyor by profession; I notice angles," he explained, crossing his legs comfortably. "Furthermore, this box is difficult for uninvited visitors to reach. The hallway is narrow, allowing one to observe anyone approaching."

"You have given the arrangement considerable thought."

"I have attended the opera with Cassian in the past," Julian noted dryly. "He attracts acquaintances the way a lamp attracts moths."

Adelaide laughed softly, the sound cut short as a figure appeared at the entrance of the box.

"Ravensmere, how wonderful it is to see you."

The lady who entered was fashionable, fair-haired, and wore a polished, practiced smile. Her dress was created from deep emerald French silk, complemented by understated, valuable jewels. She extended her gloved hand toward Julian with the familiarity of long acquaintance.

Julian rose immediately, taking her hand to press a formal kiss against her gloved fingers. "Lady Carlisle. Forgive me. May I present my wife, the Duchess of Ravensmere. Adelaide, Lady Carlisle is an old acquaintance."

"How lovely," Lady Carlisle turned to Adelaide, her smile remaining fixed while her eyes surveyed Adelaide's coiffure, dress, and gloves with thorough scrutiny. "How utterly charming. We had all heard the news, of course, but one longs to see for oneself."

"Heard what, precisely?" Adelaide inquired calmly.

"That Ravensmere had chosen a bride from the country," Lady Carlisle replied with a light, sharp laugh. "Society is quite astonished, Your Grace. After thirteen years abroad, one might have expected a duke to select a wife from among the accomplished ladies of the ton. And yet here you are."

The insinuation hung in the air with deliberate weight. Adelaide felt her fingers tighten against the arm of her chair. She opened her mouth to offer a measured response, but Julian stepped forward immediately.

"My wife," he said—his voice carrying the quiet authority that had commanded expedition crews and negotiated with foreign governors—possesses a brilliance of intellect that puts every drawing room in London to shame. She has read and corrected my field journals with a rigor I have never encountered in any scholar, of any rank, in any country."

He placed himself squarely between Adelaide and the visitor. "No woman in England could better grace my title than the one who has known my heart since childhood. I am proud to stand beside her, and I ask that you remember that."

Lady Carlisle's smile faltered, her lips parting and closing in silent astonishment as a flush rose above her collar.

"Of course, Your Grace. I meant no⁠—"

"You meant precisely what you expressed. Good evening, Lady Carlisle."