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“Good, good, thank you,” the earl said, making her wonder if he’d heard a word of what she’d said.

Honoria glanced at her notes. “Miss Sharp reports that Rosie is developing quite a fascination with music.” A small smile touched her lips. “This is hardly surprising, given her tendency to emulate her elder siblings. I spoke with Miss Elliot, the music teacher, about possibly starting Rosie on piano lessons before her regular sessions with Elise. But she wasn’t very enthusiastic about the matter, expressing concerns regarding Rosie’s hearing.” Honoria tried to keep the dislike for the woman from her tone, although she didn’t think she succeeded. “I personally do not see how that would be an issue, since Rosie has only shown difficulties hearing when sounds are distant, and the piano would be directly before her. But Miss Elliot’s overall demeanor toward Rosie suggests she might not be the ideal instructor, regardless.”

Lord Caldwell frowned. “Find someone else, then.” Oh, so he was listening.

“Of course, my lord.” Honoria made a note in her small pocket ledger.

“Any correspondence?” He extended his hand expectantly, and she deposited two letters upon it—one from his friend, Mr. Hunter, whom his friends called Chaos, whose inventions he’d been investing in, and another missive from his aunt, his mother’s sister, Lady Somerville. She’d been writing quite often lately.

He heaved a sigh, opening the letter from his friend first.

As he began reading through it, Honoria remained standing before his desk, waiting to see if he required anything further.

Her gaze idly wandered over his features—the furrow between his dark brows that deepened as he concentrated; his beard that gave him a rugged kind of handsomeness, not a clean, polished look. Her eyes lingered momentarily on his lips.

He had full, bow-shaped lips which looked both soft and firm at the same time. She couldn’t quite explain it. In the past three years, she’d spent countless hours imagining what they would feel like pressed against her skin…

Heat flooded her cheeks as she wondered if his beard would scratch pleasantly as he kissed her, if his kiss would be soft and searching, or perhaps commanding and fierce.

“She won’t relent, will she?” the earl grumbled, pulling her out of her inappropriate daydream.

“What? Who? Would you like to pen a reply to Mr. Hunter?” Honoria asked before noticing that he was already reading his aunt’s letter.

He didn’t answer—his frown deepened as he read, his full lips moving subtly with each word. He ran a hand through his hair a few times, grunting something to himself.

His brown hair shone in the sunlight, a wayward lock finding its way to his forehead. Her fingers twitched, wanting to swipe that lock away and then run her fingers through his hair. She wondered if his hair was soft or coarse… It was thick and silky, so probably coarse. She’d run her knuckled over his cheek, his beard ticking her fingers—

“Did you say something?” he asked without lifting his head up from the letter.

Did she? Honoria blinked away her inappropriate thoughts. “Yes, would you like me to draft a response to Mr. Hunter?” She paused. “Or perhaps to your aunt?”

In their years together, Caldwell had often dictated his business correspondence to her, citing her more legible handwriting, but he invariably wrote to his aunt himself. Perhaps, he didn’t want to disclose his personal family business to her.

“No,” he said after a moment. “I will speak with Chaos in person when we reach London.”

Honoria froze. “You are going to London?”

The earl typically traveled to the city at least once annually for Parliamentary sessions. Honoria and the children always accompanied him, but they never remained longer than a week. Honoria only went to arrange his household to his specifications, while the children visited museums and parks with their governess, or their great-aunt whom Honoria had yet to meet. After a week, they always traveled home, leaving the earl behind for a while longer with limited staff.

“Yes,” he confirmed, straightening the papers on his desk. “My aunt has been pestering me to come, and as always, she has found a way to force my hand.”

What for? Honoria licked her suddenly dry lips. “Should I prepare the children’s trunks for a week-long visit?”

He raised his head and looked her directly in the eyes for the first time since she’d entered his study. “No. A few months.”

“Pardon?” The word escaped her in a breathless whisper.

“A few months-long trip this time,” he clarified, his expression suggesting mild annoyance at this capitulation. “I will be officially rejoining society. Balls, soirees, and all the attendant nonsense.”

He continued speaking, outlining what she should prepare for the journey—his scientific equipment, flower specimens, the children’s necessities—but Honoria barely heard him. Her mind had fixated on a single, terrifying reality: Jacob Caldwell was preparing to rejoin the ton.

This meant he would be hosting events in his London residence. There would be visitors, callers, and social obligations. The secluded, protected existence they had cultivated at Caldwell Manor would be shattered.

For Honoria, this meant just one thing: she would have to leave this household she’d grown to love sooner rather than later.

Chapter 6

London, 1821