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"And His Grace's suite is directly adjacent," the maid added, stepping across the room toward a carved oak door set into the connecting wall. Without a second thought, she grasped the brass latch, pulled the door open, and gestured inside. "The connecting passage remains unbolted for Your Grace's convenience."

Through the opening, George could clearly see into the adjoining chamber. It was an equally grand suite decorated in deep navy velvet and dark oak, featuring a massive four-poster bed, a private writing desk, and its own roaring hearth.

Inexplicably, the carefully chosen suites made George narrow his eyes in annoyance. Had Caspian given them a single space to share, George would have had a reason to stay close to Helena. To share in her wit, to watch that slow, thoughtful smile when she considered something interesting. Perhaps even to touch, and tell himself that he had no choice but to break his own rules.

Instead, he had an entirely proper distance and separate bedrooms to contend with.

The housemaid, completely oblivious to the tension that had descended upon the room, offered another polite curtsy. "I shall have the luggage brought up immediately, Your Grace. Please ring for me if you require anything further before tea."

"That will be all, thank you," Helena said softly as the outer door clicked shut. She looked around the first expansive suite. "It appears Caspian takes his duties as a host very seriously."

"It appears Caspian strives to irritate me," George said as he took a step back toward the hallway door.

"It is merely a door, husband," Helena said gently. "It only holds as much power over us as we choose to give it."

Chapter Twenty-Two

"Is Her Grace not within her chambers?" George asked, his deep voice echoing sharply as he brought his knuckles against the heavy mahogany door for the third time. He adjusted his collar and smoothed the dark velvet lapels of his evening tailcoat, his blue eyes fixing upon the brass handle with a growing sense of impatience.

A young chambermaid carrying a basket of freshly laundered linens rounded the corner of the passage, her eyes widening as she caught sight of George standing outside the bedchamber. She instantly dropped into a curtsy, her knees trembling slightly. "Forgive me, Your Grace! Her Grace left her dressing room some twenty minutes ago. She went down to the nursery wing to inspect Lord Oliver's accommodations before the evening guests arrive."

George cocked his head, dismissing the girl with a flick of his hand. Of course she is in the nursery, he thought, striding toward the staircase. While others would spend two hours powdering their necks and faces, her first concern is the comfort of a sleeping infant.

As George stepped through the open doorway of the nursery, he was greeted with a comforting sight.

Helena was seated in a broad, low-backed armchair near the hearth, draped in an exquisite evening gown of pale emerald silk that shimmered beneath the golden light of the sconces. Fine lace trimmed the delicate neckline, and her long dark hair was swept up into an elegant chignon secured with pearl-topped pins. She leaned forward, holding a small silver rattle just beyond Oliver's reach as the child lay kicking happily in her lap.

"I expected to find you in your chambers," George said, announcing his presence. "I had fully intended to fulfil my duty as your husband by escorting you down at the appointed hour."

Helena looked up, her eyes lighting so gently and inviting that the quiet room felt too small to handle her beauty. Stunning.

She offered George a serene smile, her voice flowing smoothly above the crackle of the fire. "Forgive me for disrupting your schedule, Your Grace. I merely wished to make certain that Oliver had settled comfortably in these new surroundings before the noise of the soiree reached the lower floors. Sarah has done a marvelous job."

George approached them, looking down at his nephew. Oliver's blinked up at him, and the moment George's shadow fell over him, Oliver let out a gurgling coo, his fingers reaching out to grasp at the silver buttons of George's tailcoat. George felt a tug deep in his chest, though he kept his hands clasped firmly behind his back, denying reality.

"The boy appears entirely unbothered by the change of scenery," George noted. "He possesses a remarkably resilient disposition for one so young. However, Sarah is more than capable of managing his care. You ought not to compromise your own preparation for the evening merely to oversee a routine bedtime."

"A mother's care, or a godmother's protection, is never merely routine, Your Grace," Helena replied softly. She carefully lifted Oliver into her arms, holding the child against her shoulder as she stood up from the armchair. "He is safe, warm, and well-fed. Now I am entirely at your disposal for the evening's entertainments."

Before Helena could pass the child to the waiting nursemaid, the silence was abruptly shattered by chaotic footfalls echoing wildly down the corridor.

"Father! You promised! You must race me to the painting room before the guests arrive!" Timothy shouted at the top of his lungs, bursting through the nursery door like a runaway carriage. The boy was dressed in a miniature velvet suit, his hair wildly disheveled and cheeks flushed red with excitement.

"Timothy! Hold your horses, boy!" Caspian's voice bellowed from the hall a second later. He was breathless and laughing, his cravat slightly askew. "You cannot simply sprint through the nursery wing while Her Grace is—oh, good evening, George!"

Timothy paid no mind to the adults, hopping enthusiastically on one foot while pointing toward the far corridor. "Father said if I finished my supper without spilling gravy on my waistcoat, he would show me the portrait of the sea captain in the painting room! We must race, Father! Right now!"

"You will do no such racing until you apologize to the Duchess for tearing into the room like a madman," Caspian scolded playfully, reaching down to ruffle the boy's hair before nodding toward Helena. "My apologies, Helena. The boy has been bouncing off the wainscoting since five o'clock."

"There is absolutely no need for apologies," Helena said with a bright laugh, handing Oliver over to Sarah. "Timothy's energy is a welcome delight. Go along and see your sea captain, Timothy, before your father changes his mind."

"Thank you, Aunt Helena!" Timothy cried triumphantly, turning on his heel and dashing back into the corridor with Caspian in hot pursuit, throwing a helpless look over his shoulder at George as he vanished around the corner.

George watched them go, turning back to Helena as silence reclaimed the nursery. "Caspian allows that boy far too much latitude," George mentioned dryly. "A child requires strict boundaries if he is to navigate society successfully."

"A child also requires laughter and affection," Helena countered gently, stepping toward him as Sarah carried Oliver to his cradle in the adjoining room. "And Timothy is clearly very dearly loved."

She paused, smoothing the fine silk of her skirt. George observed her closely, sharp blue eyes catching the fleeting shadow of hesitation that crossed her face as she looked toward the hallway leading to the main reception rooms. Her fingers brushed nervously against her pearl-embroidered reticule, her shoulders sitting rigid.