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"What would your dream wedding have looked like?" she asked.

No answer.

She pressed on.

"I think mine would have been by candlelight. Hundreds of candles." She laughed softly.

"No... thousands, perhaps. And music. I cannot decide whether I should like a violinist or a pianist better. Although, if one is dreaming, perhaps an entire orchestra."

Still nothing.

"And afterwards," she continued brightly, "I would have loved a dance under the stars."

The Duke regarded her for a brief moment.

That was all. If he had not spared her the glance, she would have thought he had not heard her.

She frowned slightly.

"Are you quite well, Your Grace?" she asked.

"I believe so," he finally replied.

"You have not said very much,” she pressed on.

"I have found little requiring a response,” he said.

"Oh." She blinked.

"I believe I was making conversation."

"You were,” he replied.

"Badly?" she questioned.

"When you ask a question worthy of answering," he replied evenly, "rather than indulging in idle chatter, I shall answer it."

She stared at him. Idle chatter?

"How am I to know what questions are worth asking when I know absolutely nothing about you?" Eliza asked.

For the first time since making his acquaintance, she noted one of his eyebrows rose ever so slightly. She hoped she hadn't offended him. She drew a quiet breath. She had to keep going.

"My next question." Before she could lose her nerve, she leaned forwards and rested her hand gently upon his knee. She noticed his eyes immediately dropped to it, but she refused to retreat.

"What should I call you?"

He looked back up at her.

"I feel as though 'Your Grace' is terribly formal for one's husband."

He considered the question before replying.

"The Duke." Arthur finally shared.

"No." Eliza wrinkled her nose. She did not like that at all.

Another pause.