"It feels possible."
"That is not possible. I have been employed here longer than you have been a duke."
"You have become very bold." Nathaniel looked at her.
"Then perhaps you should stop looking as though she has sailed across the Atlantic." Mrs. Mercer smiled. "I remember she can take care of herself."
"I understand. She has been to the village before."
"I am."
"You look worried."
"Of course."
Mrs. Mercer beside him said, "She will return."
Nathaniel stood watching it. The carriage left.
"Good." She smiled. "Very well."
He slowly released the door. "I am not asking permission."
She looked at him. "Evelyn."
Nathaniel caught the door. She climbed into the carriage.
"Exactly. Then perhaps I should finish it. You have said that every day this week."
"I can finish later."
"You have work."
"No," he frowned. "No, I'll come." He glanced toward the carriage. "That does not answer the question."
"I am a duke."
"You have become a weather expert." She smiled. "Which is usually how rain begins. It is cloudy. It may rain."
Nathaniel looked at the sky. "Supplies for what, Mrs. Mercer? With whom? To the village. Where are you going?"
One afternoon, he returned from the estate office to discover Evelyn standing in the courtyard beside a carriage. He also found it terrifying. Nathaniel admired that. She was happier, but she was also more protective of her independence. She refused to become a woman who spent every hour waiting for someone else to tell her what was safe. Evelyn changed with it.
A child changed the rhythm of the house. The months after the birth were not as peaceful as Nathaniel had imagined. Then they walked upstairs together. He kissed her.
"I noticed I have been practicing."
"That was beautiful." Evelyn smiled.
"But only love can make it a home." He looked at her. "Duty can build a house. And he thought duty would keep the family together."
She waited.
"I understand my father now." Nathaniel turned to Evelyn. "The tragedy was that they had stopped choosing each other. The tragedy had not been that they had married for duty. Now he understood something he had missed: a beautiful couple trapped inside a marriage that had become cold."
For years, the painting had represented everything he feared. He pointed toward the portrait of his parents.
"What?" Evelyn looked back.
Nathaniel stopped in the hallway. They went inside.
"From both of us, he has learned survival. He has learned your tone." Nathaniel laughed.
He immediately disappeared.
"William." Evelyn looked at him.
"But I am not tired."
"You do."
"Mother says I have to sleep."
"Yes." Nathaniel sighed.
"Papa." William stood there. The door opened behind them.
He kissed her. "I love you, too."
She smiled. "Say it."
"Certainly. I love you." He looked at her.
"That is enough." She leaned against him. "I did, and you changed. Yes, you knew me after."
"I should have. You didn't know me."
She took his hand. "For thinking you could be separated from the child."
"What are you apologizing for?"
"Yes, he was both. He was frightened. He was arrogant." She smiled. "For the man I was when I met you."
"For what?"
"I owe you an apology." Nathaniel looked toward the gardens. One evening they stood together on the terrace while the children slept.
Nathaniel had understood it, too: it had been about belonging. Now she understood that the condition had never really been about staying.