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Without musicians dictating the tempo, she could surrender entirely to instinct. She stretched one arm high above her head, the other drifting elegantly behind her as she rose onto pointe, balancing effortlessly before turning in a slow pirouette. Her skirts whispered softly around her ankles, the movement so familiar now it felt as natural as breathing.
Arthur had once told her she danced as though nobody was watching. He had been right.
"So..."
The unfamiliar voice shattered both her silence and her concentration.
"You must be the new Duchess of Buckingham."
Her foot faltered.
She lowered herself quickly onto both feet and turned, one hand instinctively pressing against her chest where her heart had lurched.
A gentleman stood beneath the wide arched entrance to the room.
He was only a little taller than herself. Where Arthur possessed the broad, athletic frame of a soldier, this man was short and stocky with untidy mud-coloured hair above brown eyes that wandered leisurely around the room before finally settling upon her.
He smiled. It was an easy smile. Practised. But it did not reach his eyes.
Eliza returned the smile politely, smoothing an imaginary crease from the skirt of her gown before dipping into a graceful curtsey.
"Why, hello. I do not believe we have had the pleasure to be acquainted," she said.
His boots echoed softly against the wooden floor as he wandered further into the room, his hands clasped loosely behind his back. He appeared in no hurry whatsoever, pausing occasionally to glance at the portraits lining the walls or the intricate plasterwork decorating the ceiling, not with the appreciation of a guest, but with the quiet scrutiny of a man assessing something he already considered his.
"My name is Mr Malcolm Eapley," the man said.
He stopped scarcely an arm's length away.
"I am the late Duke of Buckingham's natural son."
A beat of silence followed.
"...Your husband's half-brother." For the briefest moment, surprise flickered across her features.
Arthur had mentioned a brother. Only once.
She would make sure she quizzed him on his family tree this evening, she thought. Recovering herself, she smiled warmly.
"Well, it is a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Mr Eapley. I had not realised we were expecting company. Please, allow me to arrange some tea." She turned naturally towards the doorway but was stopped by a cold hand settling lightly around her forearm.
The unexpected contact stilled her. Her eyes dropped to his hand before slowly lifting back to his face. His grip was not painful, but it was unmistakably purposeful.
"I would not trouble the servants just yet," he said pleasantly, his fingers lingering a heartbeat longer than courtesy permitted before finally releasing her.
He did not step aside. Instead, he remained exactly where he was, leaving her acutely aware that he stood between herself and the doorway.
"Tell me, did your husband ever tell you that all of this..."
He gestured lazily around the room.
"...Winworth House, every acre beyond those windows, every tenant, every stable, every field..."
His gaze returned to hers.
"...was once expected to become mine?"
"I fear my husband speaks very little of family matters," she admitted.
