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"In that case," he said, setting his napkin carefully beside his plate, "I shall accompany you to the village this afternoon."

Eliza blinked.

"You shall?"

"It would appear that I owe you a birthday gift."

For a moment she simply stared at him, as though uncertain she had heard correctly.

Across the table, Arthur caught Laurence’s eye. His friend said nothing, but approval was unmistakably etched across his features.

Chapter 27

Eliza felt oddly nervous as she settled herself upon the upholstered seat beside Arthur, smoothing her skirts carefully across her lap.

It struck her, rather suddenly, that despite having been husband and wife for nearly two months now, this was the first time they had travelled anywhere together since the morning they had left the church as newlyweds.

Then, they had occupied opposite sides of the carriage. Today, Arthur had chosen to sit beside her. The realisation alone was enough to send her thoughts tumbling into complete disarray.

As the carriage lurched gently into motion and Winworth slowly began to disappear beyond the windows, she became acutely aware of just how little space existed between them. Their shoulders remained a respectable distance apart, yet the breadth of his frame occupied the seat beside her so completely that the warmth radiating from him seemed almost impossible to ignore. Now and then the carriage swayed over the uneven road, bringing the solid line of his thigh lightly against her own for the briefest of moments before the motion carried them apart again, each accidental touch leaving her inexplicably more conscious of him.

Eliza lowered her eyes, pretending to concern herself with the fastening of her glove. She was returning to the village that had raised her as the Duchess of Buckingham.

More daunting still, she would be returning with her husband by her side. She wondered, not for the first time that morning, what the villagers would think when they saw him, whether they would find him as imposing as she had upon first meeting him, or whether, given enough time, they too would discover the dry humour and quiet kindness that so often slipped unnoticed beneath his formidable exterior.

The carriage settled into a comfortable rhythm, the steady clatter of wheels against the road filling the silence between them. Eventually, it was he who broke the silence.

"Is blue your favourite colour?"

The question startled her so completely that she turned towards him at once. Of every subject she had imagined he might choose to entertain her with, that had certainly not been among those she would have guessed.

Then, almost immediately, understanding dawned on her. Their game. A question for a question. A smile spread across her face before she could prevent it, and she quickly lowered her eyes once more, fearful that if she met his gaze he might discover how absurdly pleased such a small gesture had made her.

"I do not believe I could ever choose only one," she replied after a thoughtful moment.

"Blue merely happens to be my favourite colour this week."

"This week?" he said.

She nodded earnestly.

"Last week it was pink, and the week before that I became entirely convinced that yellow was rather unfairly overlooked."

"You have a favourite colour by the week?"

"I like to think it prevents the others from feeling neglected."

Silence.

Though she kept her eyes firmly upon the countryside rolling past the window, she would happily have wagered every coin in her possession that Arthur had just rolled his eyes.

"Is yours black?" she asked, unable to resist.

"Yes," he said. The conviction of his answer drew a laugh from her.

"I thought as much," Eliza admitted.

"You asked."