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"I asked Vinnie whether she'd like to have a sleepover once a week."

Arthur blinked.

She said it with such perfect sincerity that for one glorious moment he wondered whether he had misheard her.

"Only now and then," she added hastily. "I thought it might make sleeping easier."

"But she looked positively horrified."

Her shoulders lifted in an apologetic shrug.

"She said Mrs Clapton would have a heart attack... or that you would dismiss her before breakfast."

Arthur closed his eyes.

Christ Almighty. His Duchess had attempted to invite her lady's maid for a sleepover. He could picture the conversation with startling clarity. Eliza smiling hopefully. Poor Miss Hatch, frozen somewhere between loyalty and complete panic.

It had not escaped him that Eliza addressed nearly every servant by their Christian name. Only the oldest members of staff—the ones whose notions of hierarchy had been cultivated over decades of aristocratic service—still clung stubbornly to formality.

“Have you corresponded much with your siblings?” he asked.

“Cecily and I have exchanged a great many letters, thank you so much. The boys, on the other hand..." she sighed to herself.

"The last two weeks have really made me aware of all the risks Richard is facing at sea. I am determined to wrap my little Henry in wool when I next see him and suggest he enter into the priesthood."

Arthur laughed at the thought of the boy who had tried to defend his governess on their wedding day being relegated to the priesthood.

"I suspect Henry would make a rather unfortunate clergyman," he said.

"Probably," she admitted, smiling into the darkness. "But at least I should know where he was." The amusement faded almost as quickly as it had come.

Arthur recognised it then. It was not foolishness that made her fuss over people. It was fear. She loved completely, and therefore worried completely.

Radnor. Richard. Henry. The servants. Even Mrs Clapton. Once Eliza allowed someone into her heart, she seemed incapable of holding any part of herself back.

"Will you write again to Richard?" he heard himself ask.

She nodded.

"Tomorrow."

"Tell him," Arthur said after a moment, "that if ever he should find himself in difficulty, he need only mention my name to his commanding officer..." He paused, surprised by how naturally the promise came. She lurched forward so quickly that he felt her movement through the mattress.

"You would do that?" she asked.

"Of course," he replied.

She looked at him for several seconds.

"Thank you."

Two simple words. Yet they settled somewhere beneath his ribs with surprising weight. She believed him entirely without reservation, and that was the matter concluded. It made him feel as though a single word from him could set the world to rights.

The conversation drifted on for a little while longer. Neither of them seemed in any hurry to end it.

They spoke of Henry's determination to become a soldier despite Eliza's fervent objections, of Richard's stubbornness, of Cecily's dreadful handwriting that somehow became less legible with every letter she wrote. Arthur contributed little, content instead to listen.

Gradually, however, the animation in her voice began to quieten. Her sentences became slower, interrupted by thoughtful pauses that stretched a fraction longer each time.