I would still like to hear her answer, he said. Eleanor's laugh faded gently. Lady Danvers lowered her cup. Clara looked at Arthur for a moment, long enough to understand that he was not merely being polite. He had placed a question in her hands, and now the room was watching to see what she would do with it. She did not rush. "I think discipline has its place," she said. "A fruit tree may need pruning if the branches are diseased, and a path may need clearing if people are meant to walk safely. But there is a difference between tending a living thing and forcing it to prove obedience." Arthur leaned back slightly. "Obedience? When every hedge is cut into a shape it would never choose, and every flower is moved because it does not match the design, the garden may look impressive from a window," Clara said. "But I am not sure it is more beautiful. Sometimes it is only evidence that someone was afraid of what might grow without permission." No one spoke. The words were not loud, yet they seemed to settle into every upholstered chair in the room. Arthur felt their meaning before he allowed himself to name it. A garden. A daughter. A duke. A life cut into shape because permission had already been granted to the people holding the shears. Eleanor looked down and adjusted the fold of her gown. Lady Danvers set her cup down with a small sound. "That is a rather severe interpretation of gardening," she said. Clara inclined her head. "Perhaps." She did not defend herself further. That struck Arthur even more than the answer itself. Clara had spoken because she had been asked. Now that she had said what she believed, she did not chase approval. She did not soften the point to make the room comfortable. She let the thought stand on its own, and if others stepped around it, that was their business. Eleanor recovered first. "My sister has always preferred wild corners," she said, her tone warm enough to repair the room. "I prefer a house one can manage." "And a duke requires management?" Arthur asked before he could stop himself. Eleanor blinked. Then she smiled, cautious but skillful. "A duke requires support, surely. A great position must bring a great many burdens." "That it does.
And a wife can ease them by understanding what is expected." There it was. The entire promise laid out neatly between them. Eleanor would understand the expectations. She would support them, maintain them, polish them until no one could see the man wearing thin beneath them. Arthur looked at her and felt no anger. She was offering what she had been taught was valuable. In another life, perhaps he would have accepted it with gratitude. But Clara's words had opened a second window, and air had begun moving through the