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"That is wonderful," Eliza said, smiling. "I shall see you shortly. I merely wished to say hello to the Colonel."

Still smiling, Eliza knocked lightly before slipping into Radnor's chambers.

He looked up from the armchair he now often sat in.

"You know," he observed matter-of-factly, "I cannot recall a single day in the last four months in which I have enjoyed even the slightest inkling of privacy."

"I should hope not, dear Colonel," she smiled warmly. "It merely means you are loved."

He answered only with a scoff.

"I came to ask whether you would permit me to ride with you. The Duke has had one of the carriages altered for your comfort, though I understand it only accommodates two passengers comfortably. I should be delighted to keep you company."

"Absolutely not." He looked almost horrified by the suggestion. He continued, "You shall ride with your husband, Duchess." She opened her mouth to protest as she absolutely did not wish to spend the journey confined to the Duke’s side.

"I shall ride with Miss Dawson, however insufferable she may prove to be," Radnor continued before she could object, and slowly pushed himself to his feet.

Every instinct urged Eliza to reach for him, to offer him her arm before he had the opportunity to stumble. She resisted. By now she knew him well enough.

Radnor was not a man who welcomed sympathy. If he fell, he would far rather pick himself up alone than have another witness his weakness. Pride had carried him through battlefields; it would carry him through recovery too. Still, her hands fidgeted restlessly at her sides.

"Would you do me the honour of allowing me to escort you as far as the foyer?" she asked gently. It was a transparent excuse. One she suspected he recognised immediately. Yet, after the briefest pause, he inclined his head.

"I believe I can permit that." Taking her arm, they walked slowly through the corridors of Winworth, matching their pace to the measured rhythm of his cane as it struck softly against the polished floors.

By the time they reached the entrance hall, all three carriages stood waiting beyond the open doors. Arthur was already there, dressed impeccably in a black morning coat fitted to the broad shoulders that had carried far more burdens than any gentleman ought. Beneath it lay a crisp white linen shirt, an ivory waistcoat and a burgundy cravat tied with effortless precision. His dark hair had grown a little longer than she remembered, refusing to remain quite so disciplined as before with a few unruly strands falling across his forehead.

There were shadows beneath his eyes. Faint enough that another might never notice them.

The sisters had spent weeks between the gardens and the drawing room, surrounded by sketches and scraps of fabric as Cecily enthusiastically brought her ideas to life. Ever since Eliza could remember, her sister had been the first at Mrs Didley’s side whenever a garment required mending or altering, watching her hands carefully before eventually becoming skilled enough to take over the work herself. By the time Cecily was eleven, the responsibility for much of the household’s sewing had fallen to her, and somewhere along the way necessity had become talent.

The finished gown was lilac silk, delicately embroidered with silver embellishments that caught the morning light. A fitted bodice flowed into softly gathered skirts that flattered her figure beautifully.

She looked every bit as radiant as Eliza had hoped.

"The carriages are ready," Mrs Clapton announced.

"Major Morose and I shall take the first carriage," Cecily declared brightly as Colonel Radnor fixed her with an entirely unimpressed stare.

Eliza bit the inside of her cheek to suppress a smile. She truly must ask Cecily to ease her relentless teasing. Then she noticed her husband. He had followed several paces behind the Colonel throughout the journey across the gravel to the carriage, not close enough to insult him, not distant enough to be unable to catch him should his leg fail. He hovered quietly in the background, saying nothing, watching everything.

Until that moment, she had been so certain Colonel Radnor would permit her to accompany him that she had scarcely entertained any other possibility. She had been counting on it, quietly convincing herself throughout the morning that she would spend the journey talking with Radnor, perhaps even distracting him from the discomfort of travelling.

The reality had never truly occurred to her. She would be confined for hours with her husband. Alone. It would be the first time they had spoken in weeks. The last conversation they had had shattered something inside her. Eliza still remembered every word and every expression upon his face as he gently cupped hers before calmly dismantling the future she had begun to believe might one day belong to them.

Nothing had felt the same since. Her heart began to thunder in her ears, and she was attempting to steady her breathing when the very author of her undoing interrupted her thoughts.

“Eliza?” The Duke’s voice was quiet. She had once done everything in her power simply to hear her Christian name on his lips. Now, the sound left her feeling winded, a cruel reminder of everything she had once believed it might come to mean.

The Duke stood beside the second carriage, one gloved hand resting on the open door whilst the other was extended patiently towards her.

For an absurd moment she considered pretending not to have heard him. Instead, she drew one slow breath and crossed the remaining distance between them.

Her fingers rested in his for the briefest of moments as she accepted his assistance. Even through the silk of her gloves, the contact felt unbearably familiar. The last time those hands had held her, before they had so gently cradled her face whilst breaking her heart, they had lifted her effortlessly onto the drawing table as the Duke whispered how beautiful she was, leaving her dizzy enough to believe that she might truly become his wife in every sense of the word.

As she stifled a wince, the carriage door closed with a heavy thud. Outside, the coachman called to the horses, and with a gentle lurch the carriage rolled forward.

As Winworth faded into the distance, Eliza closed her eyes. She tried to surrender herself to the steady rhythm of the wheels upon the road, willing herself to focus on anything but the man sitting only inches beside her.