“Mrs. Finch, what is happening?”
The housekeeper leaned in close. “His Grace is conducting interviews, Your Grace. One by one, we enter, and he asks us questions.”
“What sort of questions?”
“About visitors to the house. About anyone who might have had access to your private rooms. About whether we have noticed anything unusual in recent weeks.” Mrs. Finch’s voice dropped even lower. “He wishes to know who has been leaving letters in your things.”
Eliza’s breath caught. August was investigating. Was questioning the staff, trying to find the person responsible. He was doing exactly what she had planned to do.
“Has anyone confessed to anything?”
“Not as of yet, Your Grace. Though several of the younger maids are quite distressed. They fear they will be blamed for something they did not do.”
“I shall speak with them afterward. Reassure them.”
The study door opened, and a footman emerged, looking relieved. August’s voice called from within, “Send in the next person.”
One by one, the servants filed in and out. Eliza watched, her heart doing complicated things in her chest. August was trying to prove her innocence. Was taking action to find the truth.
Finally, the last servant was questioned. The hallway emptied, and Eliza found herself standing alone outside the study door.
She should leave. Should return to her rooms and let him finish his investigation. But her feet carried her forward, and before she could reconsider, she was pushing open the door.
August sat behind his desk, his head in his hands, papers spread before him in disarray. He looked exhausted. Defeated.
“August.”
His head snapped up, and the moment he saw her, he was on his feet. They stood across the room from each other, the desk between them, and the silence stretched.
“Eliza.” He came around the desk, stopping halfway across the room as though uncertain of his welcome. “I did not know you had returned.”
“Mrs. Finch informed me you were conducting interviews.”
“Yes. I wanted to—I needed to find out who was responsible.” He ran a hand through his hair. “I know you are innocent. I know those letters were planted. And I am going to find out who did it.”
Her throat went tight. “I appreciate your efforts.”
“Appreciate?” He took another step forward. “Eliza, I owe you far more than efforts. I owe you an apology. A proper one without excuses or justifications.” He drew a breath. “I should have believed you. Should have trusted you. You have never given me reason to doubt you, and yet I let my own fears and insecurities convince me otherwise.”
“Your fears?”
“Of not being enough. Of failing at yet another thing.” His hands clenched at his sides. “My father spent his entire life preparing me to be duke, and I still feel as though I am fumbling through it. And you—you are so capable, so strong, so completely yourself.I was afraid that eventually you would realize you had married a man who was merely pretending to be adequate.”
Eliza stared at him. “You think I find you inadequate?”
“I think I find myself inadequate. And I think I sabotaged our marriage because I was terrified that you would leave once you saw through the performance.” He took another step closer. “I was wrong about everything. And I am sorry. So desperately sorry.”
The apology settled over her like a weight. She had wanted to hear it, needed to hear it, but now that she had, she did not know what to do with it. The hurt was still there, sharp and insistent. But beneath it, something else. Something that wanted very much to forgive him.
“I should go,” she said, moving toward the door.
“Eliza, wait.”
She turned back, finding him closer than before. Close enough that she could see the shadows under his eyes and the tension in his jaw.
“Will you walk with me?” he asked.
The tenderness she had been trying so hard to bury surfaced again, blooming in her chest despite all her efforts to suppress it. She should say no.