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"He has neither improved nor deteriorated. Dr Abraham considers that encouraging. He remains unconscious. They intend to keep him so for the present. The pain, once he wakes, is expected to be considerable."

"Oh..." she murmured. "Poor soul. I plan to go to the market today. Is there anything you think the Colonel may require?"

"You plan on going to the village today?" Laurence quizzed.

"I fear I must. In her last letter, Mary threatened to run away from the orphanage entirely and come to Winworth herself if I delayed much longer."

"I thought it prudent to spare us both the embarrassment," Eliza added.

A short chuckle escaped Laurence, and before either man could continue, the door opened once more.

Mr Ellis entered carrying a silver salver upon which rested a single sealed letter.

He approached Eliza first.

"A letter for Your Grace."

"For me?" She accepted it with obvious delight. Ellis bowed his head before quietly withdrawing.

Arthur returned his attention to the table, making a deliberate effort not to watch as she broke the seal. It was none of his concern; whatever news the letter contained belonged to her.

"Well?" he asked. "What happy news has reached Winworth this afternoon, dear Duchess?"

Eliza unfolded the letter with evident care, and something small slipped free from between the pages and landed softly upon the white tablecloth with a delicate clink.

A shell.

Eliza picked it up gently between her fingers.

"It's from Richard."

Her smile trembled.

"He wished me a happy birthday."

She swallowed.

"He says writing still frustrates him dreadfully, so his letter is terribly short, but he wanted me to know I was in his thoughts." She looked down at the page again, her smile growing softer.

Arthur felt something cold settle quietly in the pit of his stomach. He really did not know much about his wife at all; it seemed ridiculous to neglect the fact she had a birthday. He would have to work harder with their game of questions.

"I must apologise for not knowing it was your birthday, Your Grace," Arthur said, his voice quieter than before. "On what day did the occasion fall?"

Eliza looked up from Richard's letter to find both Arthur and Laurence watching her. For the briefest instant, something very like panic swept across her face before she tried to reassure them.

"Oh, please don't concern yourselves," she said quickly.

"There are far more important matters occupying this house at present than my birthday." She smiled with such genuine ease that it only deepened Arthur's discomfort, his eyes following her fingers as they rose to the worn silver locket resting against her collarbone, stroking its familiar edges with quiet affection.

"But if either of you feels terribly guilty, I should be perfectly content with a nice big smile and perhaps some extra pudding this eve." Laurence obliged immediately, grinning so broadly he looked frightening.

Arthur's face remained unchanged until she answered.

"July 7th," Eliza finally divulged.

Two days ago. He had long since abandoned wider society and its endless charades, yet even he knew that birthdays were no trifling affair to young ladies. A young woman's birthday was a day to be celebrated, marked with flowers, gifts, and family. His own wife's had passed entirely unnoticed beneath his roof. Not once had she complained. She had accepted it with the same quiet grace she seemed to accept everything else.

Before he had properly considered the decision, he heard himself speak.