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She came to a gentle halt beside him, facing out across the room whilst he remained seated in his chair. Arthur found himself having to crane his neck ever so slightly to look up at her. This was the second time in as many days she had found herself standing beside his desk.

Her attention settled almost immediately upon the copy of Aristotle's Masterpiece she had presented him only yesterday. It remained tucked neatly into the far corner beneath a respectable pile of correspondence on his desk, as though he had attempted to disguise its existence amongst estate ledgers and parliamentary papers. A dozen letters lay across its cover, yet the edges of folded pages and the notes she had carefully annotated still protruded from between them.

To anyone else, it was simply another book buried beneath paperwork.

Only the two of them knew what lay hidden underneath.

Arthur watched the colour rise slowly into her cheeks. He did not need to ask what she was thinking. Yesterday's encounter had returned to her just as readily as it had to him.

She swallowed almost imperceptibly before allowing her gaze to wander elsewhere, coming to rest upon the crystal tumbler that occupied its customary place beneath his desk lamp. She reached for it.

"This is pretty."

Her fingertips rested lightly against the glass as she turned it slowly in her hands, allowing the light from the window to catch the cut crystal. It looked entirely out of place amongst the otherwise practical contents of his desk. Everything else served a purpose—ledgers, maps, correspondence, inkstands.

The tumbler did not.

Its engraving had softened through years of use, the smallest chip marring the edge of its heavy base. Arthur reached for it almost instinctively.

Before she had the opportunity to study it any longer, he gently lifted it from her hands and returned it to the opposite side of the desk.

"It was a gift."

The explanation escaped before he had considered whether one was necessary, but he would offer nothing further.

For a brief moment she looked at him, curiosity lingering in her expression, before giving the smallest nod.

"Oh."

Unexpectedly, she accepted the answer exactly as he had given it before quietly rounding the desk and continuing her exploration. After one final glance around the room, she settled on the faded burgundy sofa beneath the window. Drawing her feet effortlessly beneath her, she tucked herself into the corner of the cushions with surprising familiarity before retrieving a sketchbook and several sticks of charcoal from beneath her arm.

Within moments, she had disappeared entirely into her work. Arthur returned his attention to the correspondence before him with no small degree of relief.

Or so he told himself.

The afternoon settled into a comfortable rhythm. Laurence continued working methodically through their ever-growing list of names, occasionally reading one aloud for Arthur's judgement before scratching another note into the margin, whilst the room filled with the quiet sounds of quills moving across parchment, pages turning and the occasional crackle from the fire.

Eliza said nothing.

This, more than anything else that afternoon, surprised him.

He had not thought the woman capable of remaining silent for more than a handful of minutes at a time. Yet, she seemed entirely content to lose herself within the pages of her sketchbook, speaking only through the soft scrape of charcoal against paper.

Several times Arthur's eyes drifted towards the sofa—each time he supplied himself with an entirely reasonable explanation.

To ensure she had not grown bored.

To see whether she required tea.

To confirm she had not quietly slipped from the room without either gentleman noticing.

Yet every glance found her exactly where he had left her.

Sometimes she tucked an escaped curl behind one ear with the back of her wrist, leaving the faintest streak of charcoal against her skin before absent-mindedly brushing it away.

Sometimes she bit gently at her lower lip, glaring at the page before her as though the drawing itself had personally offended her.

She never once looked up.