Margaret's expression remained composed, but the distance in it unsettled him more than anger would have. “I thought you wanted my judgment.”

“I do.”

She shook her head. “I did not realize you wanted my face beside your decisions.”

Sebastian's confusion was immediate. “Margaret…”

But she had already turned away. For the first time since Belford, the woman who had taught him to ask questions left before he realized which question he had failed to ask.

Sebastian did not understand what had changed until Edmund mentioned almost casually that Margaret had arrived outside the study the previous afternoon. That was enough. He remembered the conversation immediately, including the awkward silence after Edmund had called Margaret politically useful. Sebastian had not been considering whether the statement was true. He had been thinking about how much he disliked hearing her reduced to an advantage on a page.

Margaret, however, could not have known that. Sebastian rode to her cottage the next morning. She was in the small garden behind the house, kneeling beside a row of herbs with dirt on her gloves. When she saw Sebastian approaching, she stood, but there was none of the warmth that had gradually entered their conversations over the previous weeks.

“You heard us,” he said.

Margaret brushed soil from her hands. “Enough.”

“No. You heard part of a conversation.”

“I heard your brother say keeping me beside you was politically useful.”

“And you left before I answered.”

She looked at him carefully. “What would you have said?”

Sebastian hesitated. That hesitation was the wrong answer.

Margaret gave a small, tired smile. “Exactly.”

“I was angry that he described you that way.”

“Because part of what he said was true.”

The honesty surprised her.

“They speak to you when they will not speak to me,” Sebastian said. “That has helped the program.”

Margaret's expression hardened.

“But that is not why I asked you to remain.”

“How am I supposed to know the difference?”

Sebastian stopped.

Margaret stepped closer, her voice still calm. “You are the Duke of Ashford. If you decide tomorrow that I no longer belong in those meetings, I disappear from them. If you choose to place another person beside you, everyone will assume that person matters instead.”

“I would not do that.”

“That is not the point.”

He frowned.

“The point is that my position depends entirely on whether you continue to value me.”

Sebastian finally began to understand what she was saying. Margaret removed her gloves slowly.

“You can introduce me to every village as the woman who understands ordinary people. You can place me beside you while announcing reforms. You can tell everyone you listen to a widow because it makes you look different from every other duke.”

“I have never done that.”

“I know.” Her voice softened, but the accusation beneath it remained. “Perhaps you never meant to use me, but you never noticed how easily I could be used.”

The words stayed with him. Sebastian had thought the misunderstanding could be repaired by explaining what he meant. Instead, Margaret had exposed something more uncomfortable. The problem was not simply intention. It was power.

He had invited her. He had paid her. He had brought her into rooms she could not have entered without his approval. If he decided tomorrow that the arrangement was finished, she would have no formal authority to remain.

“I am sorry,” he said.

Margaret looked almost disappointed. “I believe you.”

That was not forgiveness. Sebastian understood that, too.

“What would make this right?”

She shook her head. “That's another question you want me to answer for you.”

He nearly protested, then stopped himself.

Margaret noticed. For the first time that morning, something in her expression softened. “Good,” she said. “You are learning.”

Sebastian returned to Ashford Hall with no solution and, more importantly, no intention of asking Margaret to provide one. Instead, he began examining the structure of the improvement program itself. What he found embarrassed him. Every recommendation ultimately passed through his office, every advisor served at his discretion, and village representatives could speak but had no vote.

Even Margaret, whose judgment had shaped half the successful changes made that summer, possessed influence only because Sebastian continued to invite her. He had created a system that listened to people without giving them any real authority. Within two weeks, he changed it.

The new council would include elected representatives from participating villages, two tradesmen, a school representative, an innkeeper, and several women selected by local committees. Members would receive fixed payment for their work. Their recommendations would be recorded formally, and any proposal rejected by the duke's office would require a written explanation. Most importantly, no member could be removed simply because Sebastian disliked being disagreed with.

Edmund read the final document twice. “You realize this makes your life more difficult.”

“That seems to be the theme of the summer.”

Sebastian glanced at the place reserved for the council's first elected chair. That distinction mattered more than he had realized before.

Margaret learned about the changes from Belford's parish committee, not from Sebastian. They asked her to stand for the council. She almost refused. Then she read the charter.

Three days later, she showed up at Ashford Hall with a copy covered in notes. Sebastian looked at the pages.

“You found problems already?”

“Three.”

“Only three?”

“I was in a generous mood.”

He wanted to smile, but did not assume the distance between them had vanished. Instead, he pulled out a chair. “Show me.”

Margaret sat down. For nearly an hour, they debated reimbursement limits, voting rules, and whether smaller villages should receive equal representation. Sebastian disagreed with her twice and accepted her reasoning once. Margaret changed her own stance on one point after he presented information she had not considered.

It felt different from before. Better. Neither of them said it.

At the end of the month, Sebastian held the public presentation for the original £500 challenge. The Great Hall filled again with landowners, village representatives, and the women who had participated. Several expected prizes for the most attractive improvement or the largest number of visitors drawn to a village. Sebastian instead placed Margaret's leather purse on the table.

£480 remained inside.

“The most valuable money in this competition,” he began, “may be the money that was not spent.”

The room quieted. He explained the Belford well, the two hours saved each day, and how easily his own administration had turned a £20 repair into a proposal worth hundreds. Then he looked toward Margaret, who stood among the village representatives rather than beside him.

“Mrs. Hale discovered what my office missed because she did something remarkably simple.” Sebastian turned toward the audience. “She asked.”

He did not call her inspiring. He did not tell the room that he had discovered her. He did not make her intelligence part of his own redemption. He simply gave her credit.