"You're aware this house is falling apart," she said as they passed a collapsed hallway curtain rod.
"Only in places," he replied.
"That is not comforting."
"It wasn't meant to be."
When they returned to the great hall, she turned to face him fully. "I need your help, Nathaniel."
He blinked. "That's the first time you've said my name."
"Enjoy it. I may not do it again."
"I'll savor it. Can you be serious?"
"I can try. I want to fix this place, but I can't do it if you're going to laugh every time I suggest a repair."
His expression softened slightly. "You're not what I expected."
"Neither are you."
They stood like that for a moment, caught between disdain and something warmer. Not affection, not yet, but something that might be mistaken for understanding if one looked at it sideways.
He bowed. "You may proceed, countess."
She inclined her head. "Thank you, my lord." And then she turned and left him standing in the dust.
It was not the knock that startled her, but the timing. Lady Theodosia had just come in from the garden, a trug of fading late-summer lavender resting on one hip, when the butler—the fourth footman pressed into temporary service due to staff shortage—appeared in the doorway of the breakfast room, face pale.
"My lady," he said with the faintest hint of dread, "you have a visitor."
Theo raised a brow. "Do I?"
"She arrived unaccompanied on horseback."
The lavender trug settled a little lower in her arms. "She?"
"Yes, my lady. She asks for Lord Harkort."
Theodore smoothed her skirts. Her house gown, a pale blue muslin with neat pearl buttons, was clean but plainly cut, not the sort of thing one wore for company. She did not change.
"Where is she now?"
"In the drawing room."
Theo walked slowly, deliberately. By the time she opened the door, her expression was serene, her mind anything but. The woman standing in the room was not what she'd expected. She was perhaps thirty, with auburn curls escaping a riding hat and a moss green habit that had clearly seen French tailoring. Her cheeks were flushed from wind or effort, and she looked completely, maddeningly at ease.
"Ah," the woman said with a bright smile. "You must be the new Lady Harkort."
Theo inclined her head. "And you are?"
"Juliet Blackmore, old friend of Nate's." She gave Theo a direct, appraising look. "You're even prettier than I imagined."
"I imagine many things," Theo replied, "but rarely comment aloud."
Juliet laughed, not unkindly. "You'll do."
Theo gestured to a chair. "Will you take tea?"
"I'll take the truth," Juliet said, settling onto the sofa without invitation. "Did he truly marry you, or is this some elaborate ploy to rid himself of responsibility?"
"I assure you," Theo said calmly, "we are legally wed."
"Good God." She tilted her head. "Poor man."
Theo smiled thinly. "I think I am the one deserving of sympathy."
Before Juliet could respond, the door opened again without knocking, and Lord Harkort entered, hair slightly windblown, boots dusted from the garden. He stopped short.
"Juliet."
She rose like a cat uncurling. "Darling, you didn't write."
"I didn't expect you."
"You never do." She crossed the room and kissed him on both cheeks with easy familiarity. "I've come to see what poor creature you've roped into domestic imprisonment."
Nate gave Theo a long look but said nothing. Theodore looked between them, noting the ease, the shared history, the absence of explanation.
"I'll have Cook prepare something light," she said coolly, "since no one saw fit to inform me of our guest's arrival."
"Are you angry with me?" Juliet asked, amused.
Theodore didn't smile. "No, Miss Blackmore. I don't yet know you well enough to be angry." And she left them there in the drawing room alone.