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"Last night. I rather enjoyed myself. I liked talking to you."

He said nothing.

"I liked it a great deal." She looked down at the quilt between them before finding the courage to meet his eyes again.

The words were just louder than a whisper. Another silence settled between them before she reached across the narrow space separating them, laying her hand lightly over his. Arthur looked down at her hand resting upon his.

Then back at her.

For the first time since she had opened her eyes, the armour she had watched him so carefully rebuild seemed, if only for a moment, to loosen once more.

Not wishing to press him further, she gently changed the subject.

"I thought I might go into the village later today, if that is agreeable to you."

Arthur nodded once.

He rose from the bed in one fluid movement before crossing towards the clothes Mr Ellis had laid out the evening before. Stepping behind a carved wooden privacy screen, adorned with delicate floral detailing, he began to dress.

Eliza tried very hard to avert her eyes. She failed.

Though much of him was hidden from view, she caught fleeting glimpses of the broadness of his back as he reached for his shirt.

"Duchess?"

Her title sounded less like a summons than a question, as though he had sensed her gaze lingering where propriety dictated it ought not.

She started, sitting upright in the bed.

"Yes?"

By the time she answered, he had already drawn his shirt over his shoulders, concealing any trace of flesh from view. Although the screen prevented her from seeing his face, she could picture him with remarkable clarity; the careful composure had undoubtedly returned, every ounce of the openness she had glimpsed the previous evening once more tucked safely behind the familiar reserve that seemed to accompany him as naturally as breathing.

"I suggest you get ready for the day," he said after a brief pause. "I shall meet you at breakfast."

She lowered her eyes, unable to suppress the small flutter of disappointment that settled somewhere beneath her ribs. She had hoped, foolishly perhaps, that the Arthur she had spoken to long into the night might have lingered a little while longer.

"Very well," Eliza replied.

She climbed quietly from the bed, smoothing the creases from her nightdress before crossing the room on silent feet towards the connecting door. Her mind remained so occupied with Arthur and the distance she had once again begun to feel between them that she failed to notice the longcase clock standing proudly against the wall.

Its hands rested upon half past one in the afternoon.

Chapter 26

Arthur sat in his customary chair at the head of the dining table, the afternoon light pouring through the windows as he tried to reclaim control of his routine while they waited for luncheon to be served.

Opposite him, Laurence regarded him over the rim of his wine glass with an expression of barely concealed amusement. The unmistakable taunt bouncing in his friend's eyes warned Arthur precisely what was coming long before a single word left his mouth.

"A late start for you today, Buck," Laurence remarked before long. "I cannot help but wonder what could have kept you in bed until luncheon."

Arthur looked up slowly. He became aware immediately that Laurence was not alone in his observations.

Though every servant in the room continued about their duties with well-practised composure, he caught more than one discreet glance exchanged between them. A footman busied himself unnecessarily with adjusting the cutlery. One of the maids suddenly discovered an intense fascination with the arrangement of flowers positioned rather too close to the dining table.

The household had noticed. Of course they had.

For years, Arthur's mornings had followed precisely the same routine. Ellis would enter at six. His bath would already have been prepared. Urgent correspondence answered before breakfast. Then he would enter the dining room and have breakfast with his morning paper.