They made their way deeper into the forest until the duke stopped before a tree with pale grey bark, smooth except for a few knots. He rubbed his thumb over the grain whorls, places where branches once grew…
“Even-grained,” he said, running his palm along the pale bark. “Cuts clean. Takes a polish better than most. I’ll use a few of these for the desks.”
“Desks?” Rosamund echoed.
“For the school a few villages over.” He said it as though it required no further explanation.
Then he stepped back, shrugged out of his coat, and draped it neatly over a low branch. He casually rolled his sleeves, loosened his collar, and set his satchel at the base of the tree.
Rosamund moved to a nearby fallen trunk and settled herself there, folding her skirts beneath her. She did not write.
She watched.
He tested the axe’s weight once, adjusted his stance, and set the blade where he wanted it.
The first strike bit cleanly into the wood, ringing clear and bright through the forest. Then another, until he was working at a steady rhythm: lift, swing, strike.
And as she sat there, listening to the cadence of axe against wood, Rosamund felt the press of time in an unexpected way.
More than likely, today was her last day.
And…
There was one more matter she needed to address. One of the core responsibilities inherent in any title. Something parliament would be quite, quite interested in.
She drew a slow breath and waited for him to finish the next stroke.
It couldn’t wait.
“You plan to marry eventually, don’t you?”
The duke’s body went taut. Slowly, he turned his head toward her. “You said I needn’t…”
“This is not about me,” she blurted. “I–I’m most definitelynotseeking a husband.”
Not that anyone had ever asked.
Not thatthe dukehad asked, actually…
He cocked his brow. “Good then, because I am most definitely not seeking a wife.”
Lift, swing. Strike. The loudest of them all.
“... Ever?”
His answer was not at all what she wanted to hear.
And that had nothing to do with her. Truly.
It was because siring an heir was, in fact, anessentialduty.
Even if marriage wasn’t in his near future, knowing he eventually intended to could make all the difference.
“But—”Strike.She winced. “Surely you’ve not ruled it out completely? I mean, it would… look better if?—”
Lift. “I’ve no plans to marry. Now or ever.” Swing.Strike.
“Because of your injury?”