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"I struggle to understand how one finds the courage to dance in the arms of another whilst one's husband lies upon a battlefield."
Arthur swirled the whisky slowly around the glass. His thoughts drifted to Eliza. He had left behind a young wife who scarcely knew him, yet she had waited faithfully and worried for a man who had given her little reason to.
The comparison sat uncomfortably in his chest.
"Rumour has ruined many innocent people," Arthur said evenly. "Not our marriage. Not our concern."
Laurence remained silent. Arthur could tell Laurence's opinion remained unchanged. After a lingering moment, Laurence gathered another bundle of correspondence.
"Speaking of marriages, your mother is expected in four days." Laurence shared as Arthur grimaced in response without shame.
"I feared as much."
"She intends to inspect both you and your beloved," said Laurence.
Arthur let out a weary sigh before draining the remainder of his whisky.
"Heaven help us both," said Arthur.
"She has done remarkably well, you know... your bride." Laurence glanced at him,
"The estate has wanted for nothing. The servants speak highly of her. Mr Ellis has become fiercely protective of her, and I suspect half the village would first defend the Duchess of Buckingham before they would defend you. Though fear not, you still owe her a trip into town, so maybe you can win villagers over after all.”
A tired smile tugged at Arthur's mouth. Laurence's own softened.
"And if I may be so bold, I dare say she is far better company than you."
A quiet laugh escaped Arthur's lips.
"Thank you, Ben."
The words carried far greater weight than simple gratitude. Laurence had kept Winworth standing. Laurence had watched over Eliza. He had been exactly where Arthur had needed him to be. Laurence seemed to understand all of that without explanation and bowed his head once more before quietly excusing himself. Like himself, gratitude always made his old friend uncomfortable.
The door had scarcely closed behind him when another knock sounded.
"Enter."
One of the footmen stepped inside, carrying a neatly folded slip of paper upon a silver tray.
"Your Grace."
Arthur accepted it with a nod—the midday report.
A habit he missed whilst on the road. He unfolded the paper.
12:00 – Her Grace, the Duchess of Buckingham, began the morning with a pianoforte lesson. She later took her sketching materials to Colonel Radnor's bedside, where she remained until luncheon before visiting the stables.
Arthur found himself reading the line twice. A faint smile touched his mouth before he could prevent it. He laid the note neatly upon the corner of his desk, trapping it beneath the weight of his whisky glass before leaning back in his chair.
He barely had time to return to his correspondence before a far softer knock sounded at the door.
"Come in," Arthur muttered.
He already knew who it would be. Even so, he looked up the moment the door opened.
Eliza stepped quietly into the room, easing the heavy door shut behind her. Sunlight followed her inside, spilling around her silhouette before the latch clicked softly into place.
She smiled the instant their eyes met. It was small.
